Messiah

by J. E. Taylor

  After an atmospheric scan validated the alien craft would sustain them, Matthew opened the air lock and stepped into the docking station, closing the door behind him. “Our visitor needs oxygen just like we do,” he said and the discovery did nothing to settle his internal alarms. A snarled nerve bundle settled in the pit of his stomach. He glanced back toward the cockpit and André, still reading a big blank.

  Cal gnawed on his lower lip, surveying the air lock to the other ship.

  “Here goes,” Matthew said and with a deep breath, he released the air lock to the visitor’s craft and entered with the captain in tow.

  A man towering close to seven feet stood in the front of the craft with his back to the air lock, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

  Matthew knew he was tracking them in the reflection, but he wasn’t prepared for the image when the alien turned toward them. Red eyes shimmered from an otherwise human form. Matthew stopped in his tracks, his gaze landing on the scar on the alien’s cheek and all the stories André told of his homeland surfaced. This was the Zyclonian commander who carried out the order. The one who sealed André in that death pod.

  Anger blushed in his cheeks and he saw the nuance of a change in the man. The calm, friendly smile changed, turning feral and dangerous.

  “You have something I want.”

  Matthew laughed at the sheer irony. He had longed to be in the same room as this man, to kick his ass to the other side of the universe and back. But with André so close and no idea of how powerful this man was, he couldn’t take the chance. “I have no clue what you are talking about.”

  “He vaporized the meteor,” the Zyclonian replied.

  “You can’t have him,” Matthew said, his internal alarms now sounding louder than the pounding of his heart.

  The Zyclonian laughed until he lost his balance, taking a step back against an invisible shove and his gaze swung to Cal.

  “You can’t have him.” Cal echoed Matthew’s sentiments. His hands balled into fists and his head hung low. His eyes narrowed into glaring slits aimed at the alien standing at the bow of the ship. He clenched his teeth, trying to let the anger build, to fuel his power. “You can’t kill him,” he clarified, gleaning the stranger’s deepest thoughts.

  Cal slammed against the wall with enough force to daze him. He slumped to the ground, struggling to his hands and knees.

  “Who are you to stop me?” he asked, glancing in Matthew’s direction.

  “I’m his father,” Matthew growled.

  The stranger laughed again. “You aren’t his father.”

  “Bullshit,” Matthew spat.

  “I killed his father,” the Zyclonian laughed, taking a step toward Matthew. “Just like I’m going to kill you.”

  Pain seared his entire body and Matthew fell to his knees, struggling to pull in a breath against the invisible hand crushing his chest.

  THE COLD HAND OF FEAR wrapped around his heart and André sat up like a bolt of lightning, his eyes darting around the ship, disoriented.

  André, wake your ass up now. Cal’s thoughts invaded his mind, jolting him out of the chair. He followed the silent beacon, out through the air lock. His father’s pain slammed into him like a tackle from a blind side. He stumbled, trying to catch himself. Fury enveloped him and he stormed around the corner, his gaze landing on the man causing his father’s suffering. “Let him go,” André growled.

  The man glanced at André. “Hello André. It’s been a long time,” he said and his eye twitched.

  Matthew’s shoulder split open and his scream of pain echoed on the walls.

  André stepped in front of his father, interrupting the power flow.

  Matthew collapsed on the floor, his breath no longer gasping, but coming in harsh pulls as the air flowed in.

  Cal crawled over to Matthew and began assessing the damage.

  André glared at the man, recognition settling deep in his gut, bringing with it a raw blinding rage. “I know you,” he hissed.

  “I never imagined you would live long enough to be saved.” The man laughed.

  Hatred flared, along with memories of his parents’ dying screams. “You’re the son of a bitch who killed my parents.”

  “I killed them slowly, painfully, without mercy. And now I’m going to do the same to you.” His eye twitched.

  André’s left shoulder split open and he clenched his teeth. “Is that all you got?” André asked, using the pain to fuel the building power in his soul. With a tilt of his head, he released a bullet, sending the man flying back against the glass. André took a step forward with murder in his heart.

  “Don’t, André,” Matthew gasped.

  André paused, his father’s labored plea taking some of the fire from him. “He killed my parents,” he said, justifying his intent.

  “That doesn’t mean you get to do the same,” Matthew said, his voice a little more controlled.

  André ground his teeth, glaring at the man, still holding him against the glass with a fraction of his power. “He was also the one who sealed me in that tin can to die.” The glass behind the man began to crack under the pressure. “Get my father out of here, Cal,” André ordered, glancing over his shoulder. “Now.”

  Cal picked Matthew up, backing out of the room and into the airlock. It closed at André’s direction, sealing them out of the deadly space before he focused back on the Zyclonian. He wanted to feel this man’s bones break under his fists. He released the alien from his mental grip.

  The man fell to the ground, but was up on his feet within a heartbeat.

  “Captain Trevor, what the hell are you doing in my galaxy?”

  “Looking for another world to conquer,” he said and his eye twitched.

  André put his hand up, stopping the flow of power aimed at him. The alien’s eyes widened in surprise. “Have you ever used your hands to kill?” he asked. “Or are you just a fucking coward?” He pushed the power back in the direction it originated, knocking Captain Trevor back on his ass.

  “I’d love to tear your head off with my bare hands and bring it back to the emperor.” Captain Trevor stood, advancing at the implied invitation.

  André smiled and without warning, threw the first punch. It connected with Captain Trevor’s chest, sending him flying onto his back. “That felt good,” he said and turned so he led with his right shoulder, protecting his injured shoulder, both fists positioned in front of him like a boxer. “If you knew I was coming, why didn’t you just take out the ship?” he asked as the captain got to his feet.

  Captain Trevor charged.

  André sidestepped and threw an upper cut, connecting with the captain’s rib cage, knocking him across the ship. “Is it because you aren’t as strong as I am?”

  “I’m going to take great pleasure in seeing you die,” Captain Trevor said, standing up.

  André shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I promised my girl I’d come home from this trip.” He centered himself again.

  “Your girl?” the captain asked.

  “Yeah, I got a girl waiting for me. But you, you’ve got nothing waiting for you but a world of hurt.”

  The captain lunged, this time swinging and connecting with André’s jaw.

  André stumbled back, catching himself before he lost his balance completely, but it wasn’t quick enough to prevent Captain Trevor from reaching him. A hand as strong as the vise in his father’s garage clamped down on André’s throat, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the wall.

  “Looks like your girl is going to be disappointed after all,” Captain Trevor growled in André’s face, and dug his thumb into the cut on André’s shoulder with his free hand.

  André cried out in pain. “Son of a bitch,” he gasped, throwing a weak punch into Captain Trevor’s side and planting a kick with everything he had, right between Captain Trevor’s legs. He dropped instantly; the captain sunk to his knees, holding his balls, red tears welling in his eyes.

  André
didn’t wait for the captain to regain his composure. He slammed his fist into the captain’s upturned face, smashing his nose. He threw a second punch, connecting with the captain’s eye. Crippling pain ripped through his thigh as it split to the bone and he yelped, stumbling back to the center of the room before slipping to his knee.

  Anger raged, twirling and binding with the pain, and André forced himself to his feet.

  Captain Trevor leaned against the wall, his nose gushing blood from between his hands. His eye twitched again, slamming André across the room into the far wall.

  Fire flared in his side and he nearly doubled over, his hand pressing against the wet fabric of his flight suit, pushing the torn skin together. Wrath boiled through every vein, pounding and pulsing until it merged in the center of his being. Like a rocket, his power fired, accompanied by a roar that echoed off every surface in the room.

  Captain Trevor catapulted toward the window of the aircraft and the glass crumpled against the shove André let loose. Both Captain Trevor and all the oxygen in the alien craft were sucked into space.

  The air hissed out of André’s lungs and he lunged for the air lock, mentally pressing the release valve, opening the door to the cargo bay beyond. It took all his effort to pull himself out of the space vacuum and into the cargo bay, leaving him just enough energy to slam his palm on the door controls.

  His lungs stung with the lack of oxygen and he fell on his hands and knees, crawling toward the shuttle door as white spots filled his vision. It took a moment to understand the high-pitched wheeze wasn’t the replenishing of oxygen; it was coming from him. Pain and panic filtered into his consciousness and he reached for the shuttle door. “Dad,” he exhaled with the last of the oxygen.

  THE DOORS SWISHED OPEN and Matthew turned to see Cal drag André into the spacecraft. Matthew sat at the controls, his shoulder bandaged and throbbing, but not as much as the fear lacing the lining of his stomach.

  “Get us out of here, Commander,” Cal said.

  Matthew didn’t need to be told twice. He unlatched the ship from the alien craft and headed back toward Earth. He caught a fleeting view of the Zyclonian and wondered if he was dead. A closer look at the crystallized face confirmed it, and Matthew glanced over his shoulder. “How’s my son?”

  Cal didn’t answer directly, but the barely concealed curses jolted Matthew along with the intensity of how Cal worked. Blood flowed in pulses from André’s thigh, and Matthew swallowed hard. He’d seen that type of wound before. An arterial bleed, the kind that requires transfusion to keep the patient alive and his head snapped toward the body of the Zyclonian who hurt his son.

  He turned the ship around.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Getting my son blood,” Matthew replied and slowed the ship as he passed the floating corpse.

  Cal nodded before continuing his patch job on André’s thigh, brandishing his laser like a wizard wields his magic wand. “We need to get him back home, as fast as you can, Commander. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  Maneuvering the ship, he trapped the dead body in the outer bay, and then he resealed the doors and pressurized the air lock.

  A thud followed as the body hit the floor.

  “Tell me when it’s safe,” Cal said, taking a sample of André’s blood and cataloguing it in his handheld computer. He pulled out a syringe and a bag, setting it aside until Matthew gave the word and went back to patching André up.

  “Okay,” Matthew said, and opened the air lock.

  Cal disappeared into the loading bay and returned a few minutes later with a collection bag holding a little under a half pint of frigid blood and gave Matthew a nod. “It’s close enough to André’s.”

  Matthew closed the air lock and depressurized the loading dock, allowing the temperature to drop and freeze dry the corpse just in case they needed more. He put the ship into overdrive and sped toward home. He spared a quick look, in time to capture Cal setting up the transfusion line.

  “How much longer?” Cal asked.

  “An hour. I’m pushing the limit on this thing,” he said, pulling his attention away from André and concentrating on getting them home. He maneuvered the ship through space at a speed he never dared before and it took every ounce of focus to reach their destination in one piece. Earth sped toward him and true to his word, an hour later they skidded to a stop at the outer base bay.

  “Tell me my son is okay,” he said as he drove the ship through the doors and into the hangar. Red strobe lights of the ambulance reflected in the otherwise dark hangar and Matthew was thankful they returned much earlier than expected and there would be no added complications of getting André the help he needed.

  “I don’t know if he is, sir,” Cal said, looking down at the unconscious boy. “He stopped shaking about twenty minutes ago, but his pulse is still all over the place.”

  The doors to the ship opened and medics converged. Matthew ordered the body in the back of the ship cryogenically preserved and tagged as an organ donor for André and trusted they adhered to his directive. He didn’t wait to oversee the collection; instead, he climbed into the waiting ambulance, wincing with every motion, the pain wracking every nerve now that the adrenaline had died.

  “You need to be checked out when we get there,” Cal said.

  He nodded and dug his phone out of his pocket, calling the house. “Hi, Linda,” he said, exhaustion lacing his voice and he cleared his throat. “There’s been...” He traded a glance with Cal. “There’s been an accident and André’s hurt.”

  “What?” Linda’s voice carried the disbelief he expected.

  “André is seriously wounded,” he said and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Voicing the words brought burning tears of fear to his eyes and he squeezed them back. “We’re on our way to St. Vincent’s. Bring Katrina.”

  He disconnected the call and took a calming breath, pushing away the fear of losing André and concentrating on his earlier feat. Meeting Cal’s gaze, he finally voiced his awe. “He vaporized that meteor.”

  “Yeah. And he saved both our lives.”

  Please, God, don’t let my son die. Matthew offered a silent prayer, hoping the Lord would spare him this kind of pain.

  “I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen, Commander,” Cal said.

  Matthew nodded, blocking the thought from his mind.

  “MATTHEW, I GOT HIM. You need an x-ray,” Cal said as they climbed out of the ambulance. He gave a nod to an orderly, who escorted Matthew away.

  Cal gave the rundown to the emergency room doctor as they wheeled André into a private triage room. He worked side by side with the doctor to clean and cauterize all the wounds, including inspecting the laser patch job he did in space.

  “You saved this boy’s life,” Dr. Schwartz stated as he inspected the artery. “Nice job.”

  “Thanks, but he isn’t out of the woods yet,” Cal said, checking the readout on the machines.

  The doctor glanced over his shoulder at the numbers. “Those can’t be right,” he said.

  Cal glanced over his shoulder. “They are.”

  “But his heart rate...”

  Cal glanced at the register, the sporadic and slow beat unlike any healthy human. It resembled the beginning of a cardiac arrest and the doctor flipped on the defibrillator.

  “Dr. Schwartz, that is not necessary.” Cal reached over and turned off the machine. “He isn’t in cardiac arrest.”

  “But the readout?”

  “If he was human, I would agree, but he’s not and I’ve seen this before,” Cal said, praying he was right. He didn’t know what an electric shock would do to André, and the kid had slipped into what looked like a coma.

  The doctor blinked and stepped back as if André were a ticking bomb and his eyes widened. “That’s the alien from the president’s press conference?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he—”

  “Yes, he stopped the meteor,” Cal answered befor
e the doctor finished his question. “And now that he’s stabilized, I’d like him moved to the intensive care unit and kept under observation while I talk with his family.”

  Dr. Schwartz nodded.

  “If anything changes, please page me,” Cal said, writing his pager number on the chart. “And please make sure a security detail is put in place. I don’t want the press to get wind that we are here.”

  Dr. Schwartz deflated a bit but he nodded and Cal gave him a quiet glare.

  “Consider this part of doctor-patient confidentiality. If you leak any of this to the press, I’ll make sure the only job you can get is wiping babies’ butts in the local shelter medical unit.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dr. Schwartz said and wheeled André toward the ICU.

  Cal stripped his gloves and threw them in the trash before heading to the emergency waiting room in search of Matthew’s family. He stopped at the registration counter. “Excuse me, can you tell me where Commander Robbins is?”

  “He’s still in the x-ray department,” the nurse said.

  Cal nodded and entered the waiting room, peeling off his surgical hat. “Mrs. Robbins?”

  Both women looked at Cal.

  THE CONCERN IN CAL’S eyes, along with his flurry of thought, sent Katrina’s heart racing. Panic tried to steal her voice, but she pressed through it and asked, “Is André all right?” Despite her best efforts, tears clouded her vision.

  Cal pulled up a chair. “He’s in a coma,” he said, keeping eye contact with Katrina. “He sustained trauma to his shoulder, leg, and abdomen. He has several bruises on his back and neck, but thankfully nothing is broken.” He offered a hint of a smile. “He also went without oxygen for a few minutes and that’s what we believe precipitated the coma.” He glanced at the sleeping baby in the carrier in front of Katrina. “The bright spot is that he still has brain activity and is breathing on his own.” He raised his gaze back to hers.

  Katrina blinked and hot tears cut paths down her cheek. “Coma? André’s in a coma?”

  Cal nodded.