Messiah

by J. E. Taylor

  “Pack your gear and report to the transport station,” Matthew said, his voice booming over the loud speakers. The arena cleared quickly and he turned toward André.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me,” Matthew said, staring at André and trying to read what was just behind the iron curtain in his mind.

  André closed his eyes and turned his back on Matthew. His nod was almost indiscernible, but Matthew caught it along with the sigh.

  “What is it?”

  André looked back at his father. “The real reason I was exiled.”

  Matthew narrowed his eyes, digging in André’s mind but he still came up empty. “You’ve been lying all these years?”

  “No, not entirely. As far as the people on Zyclon know, I was exiled because of my blue-eyed mutation and the relation to the lore the emperor manipulated. But it was all bullshit. The emperor exiled me because I have legitimate claim to the throne.”

  Irritation snaked through Matthew, burning in the pit of his stomach. “Why would you keep that from me?”

  André laughed. “It meant nothing here and it would only serve to muddy the waters. And honestly, I wanted to block out the horrors we endured on the run. After the emperor branded my parents criminals, no one would help us. We were starving and desperate but he didn’t give a damn. To him, I was a threat, even at six, and he coerced the public into believing his warped version of the prophecy just to suit his greed for power. So in essence I didn’t lie; I just didn’t give you all the details.”

  André’s vibrant blue eyes shined with anger. “They exiled a six-year-old child.” He took a deep breath. “They sent me into space to die because the emperor was a power-hungry nutcase.” André turned and left the observation area.

  Matthew caught up with André, keeping pace and letting the silence fill the space between them, turning over these new facts. It still didn’t change the way he felt about his son; in fact, it only added to his fury toward the Zyclonian emperor.

  “And now he’s come to finish the job,” André said.

  “I won’t let him,” Matthew said and André met his gaze.

  “I’m not sure you can stop him.”

  Matthew sent a reassuring smile in André’s direction. “Maybe not alone, but with the team, we’re a pretty powerful force.”

  André offered a nod.

  “Now get going,” Matthew said and gave André’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just make sure you swing in and say goodbye to your mother before you leave.”

  André glanced at Matthew; something in his tone struck a chord. “Sure, I’ll go over with you.”

  Matthew shook his head. “I’ve got some things to wrap up here before I head home to pack; besides, you’re going out with the first wave. I’ll be heading up the second group.”

  André stopped in his tracks. His instincts tripped on high octane, screaming that this was not right. “Dad.”

  Matthew glanced at his son. “You’ll be fine.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about,” André replied.

  Matthew smiled. “I’ll be fine. I know how to take care of myself.”

  André nodded, but deep down in the pit of his stomach, he knew this was the last time he would see him alive. His eyes glossed over with tears and he blinked them back, leaving a thin red film over his eyes.

  “Cut the crap, André,” Matthew snapped. “I’m going to be just fine.”

  André nodded and impulsively hugged his father. “I love you, Dad,” he said, pulling away just as quickly.

  “I love you too, son. Now get moving.”

  André nodded and took a last look at the man who raised him with more love and honor than even his own parents had given him. “Bye, Dad.”

  “Don’t forget to stop in and see your mother,” Matthew called after him. André waved acknowledgment just before he disappeared around the corner, heading toward the parking lot.

  Chapter 22

  Matthew sat in his office, looking at the pictures on his desk. He took a deep breath, praying to God they would survive the attack.

  He stared at the latest communication from the warship.

  Surrender André or face destruction.

  “Bullshit,” he said under his breath. He knew better. The Zyclonian army was poised to attack, their intention was to wipe all traces of life from this planet, regardless of whether he handed André over or not.

  Cruelty, malice, and hatred echoed in every statement received. Matthew knew there was no alternative, no peaceful solution. Closing his eyes, he ran his hands over his face before refocusing on the communication on his computer. The data being displayed worried him. They were closing in faster than he expected.

  Dread wrapped cold hands around his heart. If the Zyclonian soldiers are as strong as André is... He shook his head, clearing the negative thoughts. If they didn’t prevail, the human race would be extinguished.

  He put the paperwork on his desk and walked into the outer office, where his secretary sat filing her nails.

  “Emma, I’m heading out.” He stopped by the side of her desk. “You’ve been a wonderful secretary.”

  Emma looked up at him. “Sir, please don’t talk to me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re never going to see me again.”

  “I just...” Matthew trailed off.

  “I know, Commander,” Emma said. “It has been a pleasure working for you all these years.” She smiled, stood and gave him a quick hug before she scuttled away.

  Matthew walked out of his office with his head held high, saluting the staff members who stopped to pay their respects. He stepped outside the building and slid into his hovercraft. He took a moment to stare at the building he had worked his entire career in before shifting the craft in gear and heading home.

  Parking outside his house, he inhaled and exhaled slowly, glancing around the neighborhood before he stepped onto the driveway. The door to the house opened and his grandson stepped out to greet him. Fifteen-year-old Samuel Matthew Robbins was the spitting image of his father, right down to the piercing blue eyes, with one exception: his sun-bleached blonde hair.

  “Hi Papa,” Sam said. “Mom’s inside with Nana.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Your mother’s here?” Matthew raised his eyebrows. He thought Katrina went with André and the first wave of soldiers.

  Sam nodded. “Dad wanted Mom to go with you.”

  Matthew ruffled his grandson’s hair as he walked into the house. “I’m glad you’re here.” His grandson always reminded him that what seemed impossible was actually achievable.

  Katrina and Linda sat in the living room; they stood as Matthew entered.

  “Sir.” Katrina saluted.

  Matthew glanced at her. “You don’t have to salute me in our house, Kat.”

  Katrina nodded. “Sorry, Dad. Habit.”

  Matthew glanced at Sam.

  “Dad told me what’s going on,” Sam said.

  Matthew nodded. “You need to stay with your grandmother.”

  “But—”

  “Your father doesn’t want you to get hurt, Sam,” Katrina answered.

  “I am not bringing you with us,” Matthew said.

  “But—” Sam began.

  “No buts.” Matthew put his hand up in the air. “I’m in command and you are too young.”

  Sam tilted his head in disgust. “Too young?” He sighed and looked between his grandfather and his mother. “You know I’m stronger than all of you combined, right?”

  Matthew bit the inside of his lower lip and sent a glare at his grandson. “I don’t care. I’m not walking you into battle at your age, Sam.”

  Sam’s lips pressed together, frustration outlining his eyes to the point a single laser red line encircled his iris, but he nodded in obedience and flopped down on the couch.

  “How long do you have before you have to leave?” Linda asked Matthew.

  Matthew looked at his watch. “
Not very long,” he said and their eyes met. Matthew would have liked nothing better than to sweep her off her feet and take her to their bedroom, but he didn’t have time for that right now.

  “Come on, Sam, let’s give your grandparent’s a minute,” Katrina said and led her son out of the room, leaving Matthew and Linda alone.

  Matthew put out his hand and Linda came to him without hesitation. He held her, afraid to let go. “Linda, you have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered and kissed her forehead.

  Linda lifted her gaze to his. “I do, Matt, and I don’t have to be psychic to know how you feel. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me.”

  He kissed her gently. “I have to go,” he said, taking her face in with his eyes, before unwrapping his arms from around her and heading upstairs to change into his battle uniform.

  She followed and sat on the edge of the bed, tears shining and leaking from the corners of her eyes, streaking her make-up. “I love you, Matthew,” she whispered.

  Matthew nodded and looked back at her from the bedroom door. “I’ll see you later, honey.” He smiled and closed the door behind him. Slowly, he descended the stairs. As much as he wanted to stay with his wife, he couldn’t. He was the Commander of the United States Armed Forces and didn’t have the luxury of holding onto those he loved while doomsday descended.

  Chapter 23

  “Kat, you coming?” Matthew called.

  “Yep,” she answered, trotting out onto the steps.

  Sam followed. “Be careful, Mom,” he said and gave her a hug, something not normal for the fifteen-year-old; usually he treated her like a leper. “I love you,” he said and pulled away.

  Katrina smiled and ruffled his hair. “I love you too.”

  Matthew drove the craft away, his glance drifting to the house. Katrina could feel his heavy heart.

  “It’s going to be all right, Dad,” Katrina said, putting her hand on his.

  “I hope you’re right, Kat,” he said, glancing in her direction.

  “We’re a pretty sharp unit, thanks to André,” she said.

  He stared out the window, doubts lacing his thoughts; even as he tried to justify their strength, he knew. He knew they didn’t have a prayer against an army of Andrés.

  Katrina swallowed and stared out the window, his thoughts a constant assault on her conscious, chipping away at hope like a pickax breaking through a glacier wall. “They sent another message?”

  Matthew nodded. “Surrender André or die.”

  “Was it from the son of a bitch who exiled him?”

  “I don’t know,” Matthew admitted. “I haven’t told André about the last message.”

  “Why?”

  “They want us to hand him over and I can’t do that.” He shook his head. “If he knew...”

  “He would give himself up for the rest of us,” Katrina finished the sentence.

  Matthew nodded. “And they would kill us all anyway.”

  “And then there’s Sam,” Katrina said, looking out the window, sighing. “He would never stand by and watch his father be taken away.”

  Matthew glanced at Katrina. “Precisely. Sam’s powers leave all of ours in the dust, including André’s, and I’d hate to see what hell that would unleash.”

  “Do you think he could stop this?” Katrina glanced back at Matthew.

  “I’m not bringing Sam into this. He’s too young.”

  “He’s almost the age that André and I were when we got married.”

  Matthew laughed. “You know that doesn’t mean much, Kat. You two were way too young to be married. I’m amazed you made it through the growing pains those first couple of years.”

  Katrina joined him, laughing. Their senior year in high school was the hardest time of their marriage, living on their own with Sam and fighting constantly about money, about their future, about football and jobs and whose turn it was to watch the baby. It still amazed her that they got through it without killing each other. “If you had told me then we would still be happily married fifteen years later, I would have laughed at you.”

  Matthew smiled and focused back in front of him, his smile fading at the sight of the outer base and what lay ahead. “André warned us; I just didn’t believe it would ever happen.” He gripped the wheel. “Fifteen years.” He shook his head. “It took them fifteen years to get here.”

  “You didn’t know,” Katrina said.

  “But he did,” Matthew answered, closing his eyes. “André knew.” He rubbed his face and doubt rattled in his thoughts.

  “Dad, you can’t do this now,” Katrina said, capturing his attention. “They need their commander, not André’s father.” She pointed toward the building, referring to the team waiting for them.

  Matthew nodded. “Let’s go.”

  They walked into the launch bay and their conversation died. Zyclonian warriors surrounded them, blocking their exit. The remaining Armed Forces personnel knelt in the center with their arms pinned behind their backs by invisible restraints.

  “Commander Robbins, I presume?” A voice broke the silence.

  MATTHEW TURNED TOWARD the voice. He thought André was tall at six-five, but this man had him beat. He had to be over seven feet tall and was built like a bulldozer. He wore a uniform decorated with similar medals and sashes as his own. He looked into the red eyes of the Zyclonian intruder. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I am the emperor of Zyclon,” he answered. “And I believe you have something I want.”

  “What would that be?” Matthew asked, his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline drying the saliva from his mouth. He hadn’t even felt their presence when they approached the building. God help them, these bastards had the ability to cloak themselves, to appear as vapor to the senses.

  “The lost Zyclonian.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Matthew said.

  The emperor looked over at the line of soldiers.

  The closest officer screamed, his hands flying to his temples; seconds later, the scream cut off as the soldier’s head exploded. The body flopped on the floor, headless.

  Matthew’s eyes widened, registering a fraction of the shock gripping his muscles.

  “He’s not here,” one of the men shouted from the back of the group.

  Matthew’s jaw tightened. Shut up. He sent the thought to all the men kneeling and felt his knees buckling beneath him. A powerful force lowered both he and Katrina to their knees, and he turned toward the source.

  The emperor tilted his head and smiled before turning toward the man who spoke. “Tell me.”

  “Sergeant Murphy, keep your mouth shut,” Matthew ordered.

  “I can inflict the most interesting types of pain without even touching you,” the emperor said to Sergeant Murphy.

  Sergeant Murphy’s hand flew toward his face, but it didn’t make it in time. A scream peeled from the sergeant’s throat and his eye burst into a bloody mess, leaving a vacant hole in his face. His good eye stared at the emperor, wide with the pain and horror of what just happened.

  “Tell me,” the emperor said again.

  Sergeant Murphy’s good eye shot to Matthew and back to the psychotic intruder in front of him. “He, uh, he led the advance team. They left about a half hour before you arrived.” His whole body shook. Sergeant Murphy never felt the invisible knife that ended his life. His head rolled on the concrete tarp as his body fell backwards.

  The emperor switched on the screen. “We tracked and intercepted them.” He headed in Matthew and Katrina’s direction.

  Matthew watched the massacre of the advance team, his heart breaking when André’s craft turned into a ball of fire, plunging into the Caribbean Sea just east of Houston. Hope evaporated, replaced by a fury so engrossing that he roared and struggled to his feet, rebelling against the invisible hand pushing against him. He let the anger grow, his teeth gnashing together in concentration as he stared at the emperor, wishing him dead.

  The emp
eror’s laugh echoed against the hangar walls.

  Matthew ignored Katrina’s whimpering sobs and growled, “That was my son.” Power escaped, aimed at the emperor.

  Knocked back a couple steps from the invisible shove, the emperor’s laughter stopped and his eyebrow rose in Matthew’s direction.

  The blow hit Matthew in the center of his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying into the wall at the far side of the hangar. Pain flared in his head, and then the blackness sucked him under.

  KATRINA SOBBED, HER devastation paralyzing her in place. André! Dear God, please not my André. Her mind repeated the thought like a broken computer loop.

  The emperor walked over and crouched in front of her. “You said his name,” he said, tilting her chin up.

  “Fuck you!” she managed to spurt between sobs, jerking her chin from his grip.

  “Perhaps,” he said and smiled, letting his gaze flow over the front of her uniform.

  She shuddered. “Never,” she growled, letting anger replace the emptiness at the center of her soul.

  The emperor ran his finger down the front of her uniform and the buttons unclasped in the advance wake of his approaching fingertips.

  “Don’t touch her!” one of the officers yelled, gaining the attention of the emperor.

  “Why not?”

  “She’s André’s wife,” Officer Jones said between clenched teeth. Seconds later, he fell to the floor, his body convulsing on the concrete and blood spurting from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. At last, he laid still, no breath, no sound—just silent trails of blood flowing from his dead form.

  The emperor turned his attention back to Katrina. “André’s wife.” He smiled and grabbed her by the hair.

  The pain in her scalp overrode her anger for a moment and she scrambled to her feet even as he pulled her up, her hands locking around his wrist, willing the pain to dull and it did. But with the dulled sensation, the bitter anger returned, scraping her tongue with the sour taste. She swallowed and glared at the emperor.