by Rob May
As they sped down a tunnel of thick tangled elm trees, Hewson braked hard and brought the Defender to a halt. Brandon didn’t need to be told what to do next. He opened the door and jumped out. Gem, Jason and Kat quickly followed with the bags and cases of supplies.
‘Thanks for the lift,’ Brandon said, raising his hand in farewell to the Lieutenant. What a stupid thing to say! Hewson gave Brandon the thumbs up, then accelerated away. The mothership passed overhead in pursuit, and Brandon and the others were thrown to the ground as the earth shook. The trees cracked and twisted, but then sprang back into shape. It was suddenly very quiet and still. Then a heavy branch fell out of the tree above Brandon and smashed down onto his wrist.
It really hurt. He waggled his hand to try and shake away the pain. Typical that the worst injury of the day so far should have come from a tree.
‘You alright?’ Gem asked.
‘I hope I haven’t broken it,’ Brandon said.
‘Well, just so long as you can still walk,’ she said.
Brandon looked at his watch on his other wrist. It was half past six in the evening. The day was starting to cool.
Gem flipped through the road map. ‘Come on, let’s get going. It’s only twenty-five miles to Stonehenge. We can even jog some of the way!’
Jason laughed as he hoisted a pack onto his back. ‘Race you!’ he said.
Six hours later. Brandon lay on his back in one of the two-man tents and waited for the sleep his body so badly needed. His wrist throbbed from the attack by the tree. They had walked, jogged and sometimes even climbed across a quake-riven landscape to get here. Circling the remains of Winchester had been the worst, but there were plenty of other tragedies on the way: farms and villages reduced to rubble; cars crashed and crushed beneath folds in the earth; rivers that were dry and roads that were flooded.
But even worse were the stunned groups of wandering survivors that they passed. Brandon couldn’t bring himself to speak to them—it would only bring home the reality of the tragedy. He could hardly bare to think about what had happened to Brighton, and to London; he couldn’t imagine ever returning to those places and facing up to the destruction.
Now they were camped in a field in Wiltshire, in the middle of the prehistoric circle of Stonehenge. The earthquakes hadn’t reached this far west, so the ancient monoliths were still standing in the same positions that they had occupied for over three thousand years. Brandon and the others had hunted around for any signs of the third lab, but darkness and exhaustion had overtaken them. With the aliens off their backs for the time being, Gem had insisted that her troops try to get a few hours’ sleep.
She was lying next to Brandon now, tossing and turning, clearly as unable to get to sleep as he was. Jason and Kat were sharing the other tent. Gem rolled over to face Brandon. She gave him an encouraging smile.
‘We’ll do it, Bran; we’ll avenge Mum and Dad’s death.’
‘I know,’ Brandon replied.
‘How exactly will it work, this alien weapon?’ she asked him. ‘Is it like a bomb? One that only affects aliens and fries their brains? It almost went off in the saucer. I could feel it.’
‘It can do a lot of things,’ Brandon said. ‘Depending on its programming, it’ll affect different people in different ways, and all on a large scale: thousands of people at the same time, maybe more.’
Gem considered this. ‘Are you worried about what the alien king said? About you being alien too? That’s nonsense, right? You said it was nonsense.’
‘I’m not sure it is now,’ Brandon admitted. ‘I’ve been thinking, Gem. Mum said there were complications with my birth. What if to save me they had to—I don’t know—inject me with alien blood or something. Or maybe the reason that there were complications was because Mum had offered to be a surrogate for a half-alien baby as some kind of experiment …’
On the long walk to Stonehenge, Brandon had told Gem all about the video message that their mother had left him. They had both agreed then that they needed to find and talk to the alien called Talem to fill in the gaps in the story. In the meantime, all they could do was guess.
‘Don’t worry,’ Gem said. ‘We’ll get you clear. Somewhere safe. I’ll take the bomb back to the alien saucer myself.’
Brandon rolled over to face the wall of the tent. ‘You know, this place—Stonehenge—was once thought to be a place of death and destruction,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘There are lots of bodies buried here, many with terrible injuries. And then there’s the slaughter stone that turns the rainwater blood-red …’
‘Did you steal a guide book when we searched the visitor centre?’ Gem asked him.
‘No, listen,’ Brandon said. ‘There’s another explanation for the bodies and the injuries: Stonehenge was in fact a place of pilgrimage and healing; people came here from all over Britain, not to be killed or sacrificed to some horrible god … but to be cured!’
‘What are you trying to say, Brandon?’ Gem said. ‘Well, whatever it is, tell me in a minute because I need to go outside for a smoke.’
Brandon lay on his back and sighed. How could he tell his sister that maybe they didn’t need to kill an army of aliens to put things right. She was dead set on revenge. He was wondering if perhaps there wasn’t a peaceful solution.
The tent flap opened and a small shape jumped in. Brandon fumbled for the torch.
‘It’s okay! It’s me!’ said a voice.
‘Kat?’ Brandon mumbled. She was almost right on top of him.
‘I’ve found it!’ she exclaimed.
Brandon was wide-awake in an instant. ‘Really? The lab?’
‘Maybe. I’ve found something, anyway,’ she said, showing Brandon a tourist leaflet that showed an aerial view of the stones and the surrounding countryside. She put her finger on a field near where they were camped. ‘Remember that hill here?’
‘What hill?’ Brandon said, unsure of what he was looking at.
‘Exactly!’ Kat exclaimed triumphantly. ‘There’s no hill on this photo. Yet earlier we were walking around that low mound in the same field; the one you said was probably an ancient burial mound.’
‘There was no door though, nothing that would lead to the lab.’ Brandon’s brain ticked over. ‘But you’re right. It can’t be an ancient burial mound—’
‘—if it’s not on this photo!’ Kat finished.
‘Brandon wriggled out of his sleeping bag. ‘Get the night vision goggles,’ he said.
Jason was in charge of the goggles. The others stood watching his reaction as he stared at the low hill. ‘Nothing,’ he told them, fiddling with the controls on the side. ‘It’s just a hill. Can I go back to sleep now?’
Jason was fully kitted out in the stuff from Hewson’s supplies: a black flak jacket and a utility belt, and vicious hunting knife at his boot. Much to his disappointment, there hadn’t been a gun in any of the packs.
‘Do they have terahertz imaging?’ Brandon asked.
Jason checked the settings. ‘Of course they do,’ he said. ‘I was just about to try that.’
‘It might show the outline of a door if it’s not hidden too deep—’
‘Woah!’ Jason said. He pulled off the goggles, threw them to Brandon, then pulled out his knife.
Brandon put the goggles on. When he looked at the hill, he didn’t see a solid mass of earth like he expected to; instead he saw the criss-crossed pattern of what looked like a man-made net. Jason was cutting through it with his knife.
But it had felt like grass and dirt! They had even climbed on top of it!
When Jason cut deep enough, the illusion gave way immediately, and the grass and dirt dissolved into grey dust. Underneath was a tent-like structure made up of some synthetic webbing. Jason had already stepped under the flap he had cut. Brandon and the girls followed him in.
Underneath was a spaceship.
This one wasn’t a saucer like the ones that they had already seen, but an elegant jet-sized fighter with jutting-out f
ins and multiple boosters. It was painted white, silver and blue, and was marked and damaged in several places; it had definitely seen a lot of action.
Gem was on her guard. ‘Who put this thing here?’
As if in answer, a door in the side opened: not smoothly, but like it was being pulled open from the inside. A tall man with messy hair stepped out and looked down at them. He was wearing an old brown suit. Brandon thought he looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place him.
‘Brandon,’ the man said. ‘Hi. I’m sorry I didn’t spot you straight away. Sensors are down, I’m afraid; I’ve being working on repairs all day, trying to get this thing flying again. I thought you might turn up eventually though. Is your mum with you?’
Brandon was stunned. He couldn’t think of anything to say except: ‘No. She’s dead. Are you Talem?’
Twenty-two years earlier. The city of Perazim, near the equator of the planet Corroza.
Doctor Talem Tarsus took the surgical blade and held it to the tip of the first finger of his right hand. He pressed down hard, splitting the skin right down to the bone. The blade was so sharp that he hardly felt any pain. He put down the knife and picked up a tiny metal cylinder, which he dropped into the palm of his injured hand. Then he carefully closed his fingers around it.
Talem walked from his desk to stand at the clear wall that provided a wide view of the city. From three hundred stories up, the city of Perazim spread out before him almost as far as the eye could see. The incredible vista took his mind off the aching hurt in his hand. Some of the newest buildings were over five hundred stories high, but in a fantastic feat of engineering the older buildings that had preceded them had been raised atop the new skyscrapers. Temples to the great god Zaal, that had once stood beneath the jungle canopy, now rewarded supplicants with views over every horizon. The sky was a moody purple, and lightning flickered in the north and in the west.
The door behind Talem slid open, and he turned from the window to greet his friend, General Dravid Karkor.
‘Dravid!’ he laughed. ‘How rude of you to interrupt my contemplation.’
Dravid Karkor was dressed in his battle armour: a full suit of sinuous purple plates shaped to follow and accentuate the musculature of his body. The fibres of the suit were self-repairing and could close up a breach in less time that it took for any weapon to fully penetrate it. Talem knew this because he had designed the armour himself.
Dravid sat on the corner of the desk and crossed his arms. His face was bleak. ‘I need your help, my friend,’ he said bluntly.
Talem sighed and turned to the window again. He had known that this moment would come. The city outside looked peaceful; peace had always been enforced by the temple predicants. But in the jungle, outside the city’s laser wall …
‘The balaks have increased their attacks,’ Dravid continued urgently. ‘Over two hundred farmers have been killed this week; food meant for the city has been taken. A platoon of my best men was overwhelmed and completely wiped out. A hidden army surrounds Perazim.’
Talem turned back to his friend. ‘I can help the injured. My work—’
‘Your work can kill!’ Dravid stated. ‘You told me so yourself. Let me use it to save our city, Talem. We can both be rewarded as heroes.’
Talem shook his head. ‘I don’t want to be a hero, Dravid. There must be another solution. If we could find out what the balaks want—’
Dravid interrupted him again. ‘They want to destroy us. They are brutes, Talem: animals. We captured one. It growled and screamed and almost bit its interrogator’s arm off. They may walk on two legs like us, but they are just like any other vicious jungle predator that in the past we have had to wipe out to ensure our own safety.’
Talem couldn’t argue with that. Their species had raised this incredible city, had almost wiped out disease and suffering, and had even travelled to the moons and stars … and yet most of the planet that they lived on was still a mystery to them: a deadly jungle teeming with dangerous creatures and poisonous plants. The predicants often declared that the god Zaal himself had set the dangerous jungle against them as a balance to their ambition and progress.
Were the monstrous balaks a direct and divine response to Talem’s medical advances? He did not believe so—the idea was clearly ridiculous—but he knew that many in Perazim would.
‘What does Paran think of this?’ he asked. On so many occasions, the opinion of Dravid’s wife had settled any disagreements between the two friends. She was a lawyer; her judgement was always cool, clear and impartial.
‘I’ll ask her to come and tell you herself,’ Dravid replied, unwilling to speak for her. His tone lightened: ‘If she can raise herself out of her chair, that is. The little one inside her belly is not so little anymore.’
Talem smiled, and the two men shook hands before parting. But Dravid re-assumed his serious military demeanour as he marched out of the door. Talem went back to standing thoughtfully at the window.
He unclenched his right hand and stared down at it. The small cylinder was still there. His finger had healed completely.
Later that evening, Talem prepared his study to receive his guest. He was checking for bugs. Talem was not afraid to have his political views known—in fact he had often argued with the Arch Predicant himself—but he preferred to keep his private life private. Too many prominent citizens of Perazim had seen their influence and ambitions crushed if it was deemed that their personal business did not please their watchful and judgemental god.
Talem moved slowly around the study with a small handheld scanner, his eyes looking for anything out of place. He had artefacts and books from all periods of Perazim’s five thousand year history, as well as plants, bones and minerals from some of the furthest parts of the jungle ever explored. He wondered if the savage balaks kept such collections, and if they thought more about the world than just food and fighting for food.
The apartment bell chimed. Talem went and opened the door. Paran Karkor entered with a smile and kissed Talem on the cheek. Dravid’s wife was beautiful and pregnant, her black hair loose and natural, her striking eyes carefully made-up. She wore a plain grey dress that contrasted perfectly with the shining silverite wedding band around her neck.
They sat together in the study on comfortable leather chairs. Talem poured himself a strong south wine. Corrozian wines were named after the direction of the vineyard from Perazim, and were priced according to how far away and how dangerous that was. This one was from one of the farthest. Mindful of Paran’s condition, he poured her some expensive water from an equally far-off mountain spring.
Paran smiled as Talem took a large gulp of his wine. They made small talk for a few minutes, then Paran said, ‘Dravid tells me that your research is going well.’
‘Almost too well,’ Talem replied, ‘but it’s still not ready to be tested yet, either as medicine or as a weapon.’
Paran leaned forward with a serious look in her eyes. ‘Talem, we can delay and delay but sooner or later you’ll be forced to give up your work. The Arch Predicant has declared the balaks enemies of Zaal. There are only so many legal barriers I can throw up to keep you out of this war. If you help Dravid, then together you can oversee this new weapon, and use it sparingly and effectively; if you refuse, then it will be taken from you anyway and used indiscriminately.’
She fixed him with a gaze that revealed her own fear and conflict.
‘You’re worried about Dravid,’ he guessed, ‘out there beyond the walls, holding back the enemy.’
‘I’m worried about all of us,’ she said. ‘If the balaks enter the city, then nobody will be safe. I worry for my child.’
She reached forward and took his hand. ‘Our child.’
Talem drained his glass of wine. He couldn’t deny that he was now no longer a doctor and a scientist, working alone for the future good of all people. Now, in his own unconventional way, he too was a warrior, with a weapon in his hands, an enemy at his gate, and a family to protect.<
br />
Seven days later. Talem and Dravid were in trouble.
The Temple of Zaal was the highest of Perazim’s ancient buildings, positioned at the very centre of the city. It was also the oldest: a stone pyramid topped with a stone chamber. The temple was five thousand years old, and had seen the city rise around and under it.
Now it was raised over two kilometres above the jungle canopy, capping the six hundred-floor Tower of the Moons. When Talem and Dravid emerged into the open air at the base of the pyramid, they were immediately struck by the freezing cold and the howling wind. Talem involuntarily gasped; the air was difficult to breath. Dravid was physically fitter and managed to keep hold of his composure. It would not help them to show weakness before the Arch Predicant.
They started up the steps to the very top of the temple. Bare-chested guards lined the way, holding sharp spears that looked primitive but no doubt also harnessed deadly technology. Talem looked down at the steps as he climbed; he could see the channels in the stone where blood from ancient sacrifices once ran. He shuddered. Dravid put an arm on his shoulder in support as they reached the top. ‘We will face this together, my friend,’ he said softly.
The chamber at the top of the pyramid had no walls; it was a simple square roof supported by a hundred columns in ten rows of ten. At the centre was the Arch Predicant’s throne. He sat there now, expressionless behind his mask. There were no guards in the top chamber; the Arch Predicant was known to be a fearsome warrior who did not need them. Talem imagined that the real defences were hidden somewhere amongst the crumbling stone of the columns. He hoped that the Arch Predicant would not decide to employ them today.
The ruler of Perazim was not completely alone, however. An honoured guest sat on a smaller, lower seat next to the throne. The king of the balaks had come to Perazim.
