“We’re millions of years old, we can no longer stand against them. So we are passing our powers to you in hope that you can rise up against them and become the new protectors of the universe. It’s a difficult job to be thrust into but if you succeed then you will gain our knowledge and become what many would claim to be as gods.”
For some reason Cole trusts this thing, he’s not sure why. Is it because he saved Thora and him or is it something else?
A map of Washington, D.C. projects on the wall, “Now for your one and only mission. Washington, D.C. was the only city to not be attacked by the Eliite in the initial wave. It’s the only safe place on Earth.”
The chosen start to chatter among themselves. They don’t take his last statement well.
“The Eliite only gave the U.N. a couple hours to prepare. Their forces have set up the best they can for an invasion of this nature but without you, it is futile.”
“What about Dallas?” A random chosen yells.
“Every major city in the world has been wiped out. The Eliite are spreading out to destroy smaller cities and towns.” The crowd gasp, getting restless.
It should be a surprise. Cole’s surprised they even left Washington alone. Maybe the others were saved before the attack. It’s noticeable within the crowd who has seen battle. They’re the ones who look lost and defeated, but they don’t have the outright fear as some others. They look like Cole.
Defeated.
“Their main forces are preparing for the final attack on Washington. If you fail here, Earth will fall and your race will meet its end. I’m sorry we didn’t come sooner but the time to fight is now.”
A display pops up in front of everybody except for Cole.
“We have split you in teams of five, each team will have a designated zone they will protect or attack. Take this time to suit up and get acquainted. We’re launching in an hour,” Jahum says as he walks off the podium.
The floating display in front of Julio shows the number two, the place he’s stationed and the group he is with, which is an assault group.
“Shit, I guess this hangs on me. I guess,” Julio says, he looks at Cole, he has nothing. “Where’s yours?”
Before he can answer a voice comes over head and tells them to meet their group in the loading bay.
Jahum approaches them.
“I’ll come see you before we go,” Julio turns to leave.
“Wait,” Jahum says, he didn’t raise his voice, but the effect was the same as if he did. “Go with one of the Astrons to get up to speed on your powers.” Jahum motions to an Astron across the room.
“Alright,” Julio replies. “Kill em.” He lays a hand on Cole’s shoulder and is gone.
“What about me? Where’s my number?”
“For now you’re not going.”
“What? Why?”
He doesn’t know why he asked that. He didn’t want to do anything, especially not fight against them again.
“You’re different from the rest, with the rate you are syncing with our genome I believe you’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To ascend,” Jahum says.
“Ascend?”
“Yes, to ascend to a power greater than what you could’ve ever imagined. But if your mind isn’t ready and you fail the process, you will die.”
“What if I don’t agree to?” Cole asks.
“I already started the process.”
Cole’s taken back. “What?! How in the hell can you do…You can’t just do shit like that!”
“We had no choice, we had to when we gave you our powers.”
No choice! He had a choice when he forced Cole into this.
They did give him their powers, which did save him from himself. But he doesn’t really know now if he wants to die or not. With this power, he doesn’t know what to think anymore. He’s slowly learning he has less power over his faith than he thought, and even less power to end it. He has no choice but to go along.
“What about the others?” Cole asks.
”It’s our last and final power we can offer you. To ascend to a place that no human has ever been before. You will be the first to change humanity’s course in history. If you don’t then the others will not succeed.”
“While you send them to their deaths.”
“Naturally they would be able to ascend over time but for now we can only rush the process for you, if your will and mind are strong enough.”
His will isn’t strong enough. He knows that for a fact.
Cole ponders on it, he really doesn’t have a choice, don’t ascend and everybody dies, and ascend, fail, and everybody dies anyways.
He doesn’t like those odds.
…
Julio walks through the launch bay. Holes in the walls lead into the launch ships, the numbers over the holes marks which ship is which. He walks past number nine. The decor still doesn’t inspire his confidence, and it’s slightly depressing to see how far they came. From magical hovering deus ex machina crystals to this shit. He looks inside as he passes number seven.
Everybody looks shaken, trembling like babies in their little blue tights. The bay is almost empty, nobody socializes and just sits in their pods. How can Jahum expect them to fight like this? Scared and fearful.
He wonders if they can actually win. He just doesn’t know. But If Jahum believes in them Julio might believe in them too.
Julio wears blue tights too, they’re uncomfortable as hell. Millions of years of advanced technology and they couldn’t make non-chaffing clothes.
Jahum said he couldn’t see Cole before he left, because he has to ‘ascend’ or some shit. He didn’t get a chance to say goodbye or good luck. The same with Erin and Arnold.
Rest in peace.
He’s not sure if he’s going to survive this one this time.
Julio finally makes it to number two. It’s in a small cramped holding bay of the launch ship. There’s only five seats, two on each opposite wall and one across from the door, all only arm’s length away from each other. He sits in the one across the door. The others are already there.
It has the same drab industrial prison like interior as the main ship. He really wants to fly in a crystal ship at least once before he dies.
The chosen sit in the cup-like seats, like a kid’s car seat. They’re strapped in with shoulder seat belts.
“This is cramped as hell,” Julio complains.
Nobody replies.
“These are chaffing the hell out of me why do we have to wear these, they don’t protect shit.”
Everybody else is in their own world except for—
“They provide ultimate maneuverability, they’re only second to fighting naked like the Greek Olympics comrade. Our powers can protect us from anything these suits can’t,” a man replies, laying it a little too thick with his Russian accent.
Finally somebody replied, Julio wanted to get to know at least one of them before they died. Usually the fastest way to learn someone’s vices is to annoy the shit out of them.
The man holds out his hand. “My name is Lance,” he says. Lance is in his mid-thirties, he has a rough demeanor of a common East European man. He wears a locket, probably his device.
“Nice to meet ya, I’m Julio. Where are you from?”
“New York City. You?”
“I’m from LA but born in Michigan. Ready to kick some ass?”
“You seem eager to kill and willing to die my friend.”
“You have to in a war. They didn’t have shit on me back in LA.”
He was saying these things to try and build confidence. He doesn’t believe half the things he says. Lance simply looks down and lets out a chuckle.
The ship lurches, they’ve launched without warning, a lot more softly than Julio expected. A map projects in the middle of the bay. It’s a map of them approaching Washington, D.C.
Seeing that makes the butterflies in Julio’s stomach fly.
“If things starts lo
oking bad I’m breaking off to find my wife. I can’t believe they split us up and put her on another ship,” Lance says.
Julio looks at him. So some of the chosen do know each other. He could use this.
“Let’s make a deal then—“
8 - Goodbye New York
Sunlight pierces through a bar enveloped window. It gleams off the eyes of Lance. He turns on his side toward a sleeping Serena in their full sized bed. He doesn’t understand how she can sleep so easily in this bed.
The sunlight shines on her freckled face. Her jet black hair hangs down to her biceps, her half Chinese and German ancestry shines through her features. His beautiful wife.
Today is the day. The day he’s been waiting for since he came to this country. The cover slides off his chest as he sits up, he’s covered with old scars, scars from another time. His locket drifts around his neck. He rubs his cold hands over scars. They itch from time to time, when he’s nervous.
He looks toward Serena. They have to go in separately for their interviews but in at the same time. He might finally become a citizen. After all these years. He kisses Serena on her neck. He gets up and puts on some pants and wiggles his toes on the cold hardwood floor.
The studio is small, just a typical New York apartment. The only other room they have is a bathroom and the kitchen, which is only a few meters away. He walks lightly toward the kitchen to silence the creaks of the hardwood, trying not to wake Serena.
He starts to make some coffee, rubbing his scars again. He isn’t nervous about the interview for his citizenship. He loves Serena with all his heart. His marriage isn’t a sham. He’s not just with her for a green card.
His older brother is finally applying for a visa, the only family he has left and the one he left in the motherland, when he was younger. His mother’s dying wish was for them to become a family again.
He gets out some eggs and ham from the fridge. The skillet sizzles as he smacks them down. His coffee finishes brewing, he grabs a cup and looks out the small side window. Only a few people are on the streets, the city is just waking.
He hears wedding bells, the world around him fades away as he remembers back. Their wedding day, his and Serena’s. It’s on a rooftop in Manhattan, white chairs, a long white rug down the middle of them, leading to a pedestal where Lance stands in his crisp black tux next to Serena whose wears a plain white wedding dress.
A pastor stands next to them, finishing his sermon. Lance and Serena clutch hands together, staring into each other’s eyes. Flowers girls release pink petals into the sky, the wind blows them around the happy couple.
Lance looks past the gaze of his wife to be, and to her side of the rooftop. Her side of the seats are filled with her family, friends, a couple generation’s worth of ancestry. He glances back to his side, he has his best man Jordon, but his seats are sparsely filled, only a couple of friends he’s met over the years; he has no family here. He doesn’t even know why he agreed to have all those chairs. But Serena was insistent on having a symmetrical wedding. The only reason they could afford a rooftop wedding is because a family friend owns the building.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor says. Lance looks back at his wife, tears fills her eyes, she beams. He goes in for the kiss and their warm lips touch. He wants a family like hers, but she doesn’t want kids. He loves her so much, he hopes she’ll change her mind.
Lance blinks, he’s back at his home, still staring out the window. He wants his brother to experience this. The freedom of choice, the lack of fear that his country is going to kill him.
His brother was deported when he was younger, he came after Lance did but they didn’t let him in and ferried him to another country. Lance hasn’t seen him in years. There was a problem with his brother’s application for a visa and he’s not going to wait any longer for him, so Lance is going to try and fix it.
“Morning, Hun,” Serena says as she creeps into the kitchen, she slides her arms around him.
“Morning,” he replies. He didn’t hear her wake up, her scent fills his nose.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, grabbing him harder.
“Nothing”
“No, really?” she persists. He grabs her hand and kisses it. But she pulls it away and turns him around.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Why would I lie?”
“You don’t think I can tell when you lie, Lance?”
“How?”
“Well you have a few tells,” she says, rubbing his arms.
“Like what?”
“Well, you’re staring out the window, which is usually reserved for intellectuals deep in thought and the brain dead.”
“Is that it?” Lance asks with a grin.
“And you always rub your scars when you’re nervous.”
She knows all his tells but he feels like stringing her along. Lance continues to stares out the window. The once empty streets become busier. This city’s sleep is short.
“I’m a little bit more complex than that.”
“You are huh! Well…” she pauses and glances back. ”Your food is burning.”
“Crap!”
He runs to the skillet, Serena laughs as he loses his shit. He turns off the stove, the pan is ruined.
“You’re right,” he says defeated.
She walks up in front of him. “You love me right?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m your wife and significant other right?” she says flashing her ring in his face.
“Yes.”
“Then you have no need to lie to me, Lance. I’m not some cheap floozy.”
“You’re not?”
“No. You are my husband and I am your wife now. There is no need for you to keep anything away from me, unless you just used me for my looks and citizenship.”
She presses her hands onto his. She’s right, he should be able to tell her everything and he will.
“You’re right, it’s just…” He hesitates. “It’s just with my brother, our marriage and my livelihood at stake, I’m not sure I could take it. If I lost everything I’ve worked for.”
“Well, you’re going to do what you always do, you’re going to power on. Fuck whatever the government says.”
“Language.”
She’s always had a problem with that, he’s never liked it. She bites her lips.
“Sorry. ‘Screw’ the government,” she says making air quotations with her hands. “Now let’s get dressed, we’re going to be late.” She pats his butt. She looks at his charred ham and eggs. “We’ll get something on the way.”
…
Lance and Serena stand in front of the immigration office, a giant gray uninspired concrete wall, up tall steep stairs. Two small doors lead inside, opening and closing as hundreds of people come in and out. This is it. Lance doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s denied citizenship.
Serena rubs his shoulder. They’re both well dressed, Lance in a sharp suit, and Serena in a dark blouse and skirt. Lance grabs her hand and walks up the stairs.
Inside, it’s a chaotic mess, there are hundreds of people and only two lines on a wide open white floor. The drabness of the outside follows in, gray and white walls, intense lighting from the ceiling, dull and tasteless, it sucks the life out of Lance.
Two small signs hang from the ceiling: Appointments to the left, and non-appointments to the right. Both lines are at least a hundred people deep.
“At least we came early,” Serena says with a weak smile.
Hours later, there are only a few more people in front of them, and hundred people behind them.
He and Serena are the best dressed people there, everybody else is in their working class clothes, people who came here straight from their hard working jobs, just so they can go back to their back breaking job.
He hopes it doesn’t come to that for himself: him pleading to stay. The people in front of them leave. Lance and Serena walk up to the window, glass separates them from the cle
rk on the other side.
“Name and appointment number,” the woman asks.
“Lance and Serena Freeman and 817,” Lance says.
“Freeman huh, couldn’t think of anything less generic?”
Lance ignores her snide reply as her fingers click on the keyboard.
“You’re late.”
“We’ve been here for hours, look at this line!” Serena says with an agitated look. She points to the line behind her. The clerk gives an annoying little sigh.
“Fill out the paperwork, and wait in the room to the left. If we get to you we get to you.” The clerk pushes out a pound of paper through a small slot in the glass. “Next!”
Serena mutters something under her breath.
Lance and Serena walk to the waiting room and take a seat. It’s a somewhat small room with only fifty or so chairs. Lance and Serena take the last two.
Time flies by as they sit, hundreds of people coming in and out, in and out, hundreds of immigrants looking for visas, citizenship, trying not to get deported, faces of happiness, sadness, and general weariness as they come and go.
Time and the world pass by them in a blur as they wait for a dreadful amount of time. Hours pass until the world stops as the door finally creaks open one last time. A woman in a suit dress peeks in. There are only five people left in the room besides the Freemans.
At this point Lance doesn’t care if he gets his citizenship or not, he just wants to go home and do anything else instead of sit in this damned room. The woman looks at her papers again, taking her sweet time.
“Lance and Serena Freeman,” She yells a little too loudly.
They jumps up, “That’s us!” Lance says. She gestures for them to follow her, they walk with her out of the door.
“Mrs. Freeman this way,” The woman says pulling Serena to the right. Serena looks back at Lance and mouths good luck.
“This way Mr. Freeman.” An older well-dressed man walks up.
Lance sits in a chair in a small interrogation like room, it’s empty except for the table he sits at and the well-dressed man sitting opposite of him. And of course the documents on the table that’s about his case.
In A Universe Without Stars 1: Skyeater Page 8
