Project Legion (Nemesis Saga Book 5)

by Jeremy Robinson

  “We need to go five years into future,” Cowboy says.

  David works his watch. “Where?”

  “I will handle where.” Cowboy says. “Put hand on Bell. Next we see King.”

  “And how do we know if this will work?” I ask. Seems like the obvious question. That David and Sally both wore separate watches tells me that they’re meant for one person, not three—and a Bell.

  “We don’t,” Cowboy says. “Have faith.”

  I look at David, incredulous. He shrugs and smiles. “I’m with the cowboy. Faith can take you a long way.”

  “Great,” I murmur, as the Bell begins to hum. “Maybe we can defeat the invading alien horde by Bible-thumping them to death.”

  David looks ready to counter, but then the world disappears.

  9

  MAIGO

  He’s gone, Maigo thought. Again.

  When her father moved between frequencies with Crazy, she felt their connection stretched and distorted. At times it was nearly indiscernible, but she still felt that he was near and just out of reach—like the entire MirrorWorld. She’d felt that connection break when she believed he was dead, but now she understood that had more to do with her perception than with reality.

  When he left the universe and entered a parallel one, it felt like he had been erased from the world. She felt him come and go, then experienced traces of a wedding and the chicken dance, which was weird. But then, with the painful surprise of a breaking rubber band, he was gone. She knew he didn’t experience the severing of their connection the same way. He probably didn’t even notice. But for Maigo, it felt like some secret reservoir of strength was suddenly denied. Hudson’s psyche, as weird as it could be, provided the emotional girders that kept Maigo’s monstrous side at bay.

  Hudson didn’t believe that, but Maigo knew better.

  She could already feel her anger building toward rage with each blare of the warning klaxon filling the Mountain. “Somebody shut that damn thing off!” she shouted, entering the command center, where Collins oversaw a bevy of harried Zoomb employees. Crazy was there, too, leaning back in a chair, totally relaxed, despite the alarm and whatever had caused it. The large space was warmed by a vast amount of electronics, computers and massive screens. They tracked the world at large through every available means, and they controlled most of Earth’s intergalactic countermeasures.

  Including her.

  Her voice boomed in the open space, making several employees flinch. She wondered if the ones who seemed unfazed by her barked command were really shape-shifting Ferox, but she didn’t linger on the thought. There was no way to know unless they decided to show their true forms, and Hudson had warned against wasting mental energy on figuring out who was human and who wasn’t. For now, they were all on the same team. But was that ‘Team Earth’, or ‘Team Ferox’? Maigo loathed the idea of being controlled by aliens.

  Been there, done that, she thought, and she relaxed a bit when the blaring alarm fell silent.

  “What’s happening?” Maigo asked, approaching Collins.

  Collins glanced back at her with a frown that said the news wasn’t good. “Not exactly sure.” She pointed at the large screen in front of her. Maigo had a hard time understanding what she was looking at. The footage was from a CCTV security camera that had a view of the horizon. A massive form floated into view, the top half looking like an overfull hot air balloon, bulging and ready to burst. At its center was an undulating circle of flesh that reminded her of the way a jellyfish propelled itself through the water...if the circular ‘wing’ was made of bat wings. Hanging beneath the warbling hood was a mass of shredded flesh, oozing...something…onto the land beneath it.

  “It appeared over Arizona five minutes ago,” Collins said.

  Just before Dad left, Maigo thought.

  “Flash of light. Beam from the sky. Same as Lovecraft.” Collins turned to the command room staff. “How long until I get my satellite?”

  “Thirty seconds,” someone replied.

  Collins toggled the comm in her ear. “Woodstock? ETA?”

  Maigo’s sensitive ears picked up the old pilot’s reply. “Just leaving Crow’s Nest now. Cooper, Watson and the squirt are all secured in Future B. We’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  Maigo didn’t need to ask what was happening. The Crow’s Nest, their home and official base of operations, was also a strategically weak position. It had nearly been wiped out twice before, and the old brick building probably wouldn’t last long if the alien invasion targeted them, which seemed likely. Everyone would be safer, and more effective, in the Mountain.

  “I should go,” Maigo said, taking a step toward the exit.

  “We need to know what we’re dealing with first,” Collins said. “We don’t know what that thing can do, and in case you didn’t notice, it’s 2000 feet across. You might be outclassed.”

  Maigo’s insides churned with anger. Does she forget what I am? What I can do?

  Maigo squeezed her eyes shut. Anger was getting the best of her again.

  I’m not the monster, she told herself. I’m not invincible. I can’t fight this on my own.

  “Need to work on that anger, kid.” Crazy said.

  Maigo opened her eyes and directed her scorching stare at him.

  He just smiled. “You’re angry because you’re afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid of that.” Maigo pointed at the screen.

  Crazy looked at the floating kaiju gliding over the desert. “Wasn’t talking about that. You’re worried about Hudson.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Freud,” Collins said. “It’s not unusual for a girl to worry about her father, or a wife for that matter.”

  Crazy raised his hands, but still didn’t look concerned. “You can worry about your hubby all you want. If you lose control, you might hurt some of these nerds’ feelings with harsh words. At worst, you might break someone’s jaw.”

  “Probably yours,” Collins said, but the comment just made Crazy smile.

  “Monsters thrive on fear, whether they’re the kind you fight...” He motioned to the kaiju on the viewscreen. “...or the kind that live inside you.” He turned his gaze back to Maigo. “From one not-quite human to another, you’re only going to be effective if you can reign in that anger, and that starts with letting go of your fear.”

  Maigo didn’t really like Crazy. His indifference to other people’s emotions—a side effect of having no fear—frequently irked her. But her distaste for the man had more to do with the fact that he was a better version of herself. The monster inside didn’t rule him. It wasn’t even scratching its way to the surface. He had complete control over the beast inside.

  “Says the man with a fucked up amygdala,” Collins said, acting defensive on Maigo’s behalf, which also irked her. She wasn’t a kid anymore. She didn’t need defending.

  As Maigo’s anger threatened to boil over again, Crazy replied. “I don’t give compliments often, and when I do, they tend to be ill-timed and inappropriate, so pay attention. The way my brain works, and the things it allows me to do, doesn’t make me a stronger person. I’ve only felt fear, real fear, once in my life, and it nearly undid me. If I had to feel that all the time? Honestly, I’m not sure how the rest of you manage. But I know for certain that I wouldn’t be able to be what I am, and do what I do, if I experienced even half the fear of a normal person—never mind the kind of fear experienced by someone who was murdered, turned into a monster and then set loose as a not-quite-human girl. I admire your strength, Maigo. Honestly, you’re the only one of this bunch whose abilities and strength I don’t doubt, because I know for a fact, not one of them could overcome what you have. And without my ‘fucked up amygdala,’ neither could I.”

  Collins looked about as surprised as Maigo felt.

  “So when I tell you to work on your anger, it’s only because I think you can.” Crazy leaned back and propped his feet up on an empty workstation chair. He pointed at the screen. “Satellite’s up.”
<
br />   Collins shifted gears quickly, swatting Crazy’s feet off the chair and sitting at the workstation. She zoomed in on the flying kaiju, revealing its mottled, bulging skin, twisting with luminous veins, but nothing else. The view zoomed out, revealing small roads crisscrossing the barren desert. Tracking the monster’s direction, Collins scrolled east, stopping when she reached a city. “It’s headed for Tucson.”

  “Kind of a strange place to start,” Crazy said. “Tucson. What’s in Tucson?”

  “People,” Collins said. “Over five hundred thousand.”

  “Still,” Crazy said. “Tucson?”

  “I should go,” Maigo said. “Doesn’t matter how big it is. We can’t just do nothing, and Hyperion is our first—”

  “I know what Hyperion is,” Collins said. “And I know what you can do. But I don’t want you going in alone.”

  “I can’t take anyone else with me.” Maigo’s irritation grew. Why would Collins suggest she take someone? It’s not like Crazy or Lilly could ride inside the big robot, and even if they could, what help would they be? They would just distract her.

  “Not one of us,” Collins said, and then she turned to a man sitting two stations away. “Are we still tracking her?”

  The man nodded. “Submarine... Do I really have to call it this?”

  “I don’t write your checks,” Collins replied.

  The man sighed. “Submarine Betty is currently observing the target in the Gulf of Maine. Jeffrey’s Ledge. It appears to be sleeping, ma’am.”

  “Who...is sleeping?” Maigo asked, but she was pretty sure she already knew who, and what, they were talking about.

  Collins tapped a few keys, switching the satellite view to an undersea camera. Through a cloudy mass of glowing plankton, a cone of light illuminated the dark gray flesh that sometimes haunted Maigo’s nightmares.

  “Nemesis.”

  “How long have you known her location?” Maigo asked.

  A flash of guilt on Collins’s face was quickly replaced by a parental seriousness. “We didn’t think you would—”

  “I don’t need protecting,” Maigo said, stressing each word.

  Collins looked ready to argue, but then deflated. “We’re new to being parents. And you’re not exactly growing up slowly. It’s our job to be protective...but, you’re right. Of all of us, you probably need the least protecting.”

  “Oh,” Maigo said, a little caught off guard. “Great. Also...” She pointed at the video feed of Nemesis, which had moved up to the creature’s face, her massive eyes closed. “She’s not asleep.”

  As though hearing Maigo’s words—and maybe she could—Nemesis’s eye cracked open. Not a lot, but enough to tell anyone watching, ‘I see you, too.’

  “We need to move,” Collins said. “If we lose track of her...”

  “Seriously?” Maigo was already walking backward, heading for the exit that would lead her to Hyperion’s massive hangar. “Operation Relocation?”

  “We need to know if it will work, and if she...” Collin’s hitched her thumb at Nemesis’s face. “...will play along.”

  Crazy sat up, looking at the screen, and then at Maigo. “Holy shit, kid. Are you going to try what I think you’re going to try?”

  Maigo smiled, doubling her pace.

  “You see?” Crazy said. “That’s why your fear and anger don’t stand a chance. You’ve got the biggest balls of anyone I’ve ever met.”

  Maigo turned and ran for the exit, not just because time was of the essence, but because she felt ready to puke. What she was about to attempt not only hadn’t been done before, but also could backfire in a very dramatic and deadly way. She searched for the sensation of Hudson’s return, couldn’t find him and then pressed on.

  I can do this, she thought, as the command center door whooshed shut behind her. With or without Dad.

  Then she threw up.

  10

  HUDSON

  “Once again,” I say, “not Antarctica. Unless they’ve already subdivided the continent.”

  “Antarctica?” David asks, looking up at the cloudy sky, where there is no trace of the monstrosity hovering over Arizona—where he left his wife. He’s probably worried about her, but the watch on her wrist also means she won’t have any trouble going somewhen to survive.

  We’re standing in front of a nice house in a nice neighborhood, and hurray that it’s still standing—meaning the Aeros don’t reach this world for at least five more years. I scour the cul-de-sac for danger, but find only chirping birds, foraging squirrels and a tail-wagging golden retriever held at bay by an invisible fence. The Bell is parked at the center of the cul-de-sac, in a patch of grass, surrounded by the ruins of a gazebo.

  “Oh man, the neighborhood committee is going to be pissed.” I point at the few houses surrounding us. “Which one?”

  “One of them,” Cowboy says. “And all of them.”

  A figure shifts past a first floor window of the home at the very end of the circle. I point toward the red door in the shadow cast by a farmer’s porch. “Let’s see what’s behind door number one.”

  I lead the way toward the house, trying to stay wary, but also disarmed by the very placid nature of the neighborhood. In some ways, it reminds me of the hilltop neighborhood in which the FC-P’s Crow’s Nest is located. But does this street hold as many secrets?

  Porch steps creak under my weight, a little too loudly to be natural. Even a ninja would have a hard time sneaking up these stairs. I pause before the door, trying to look through the side windows, but they’re frosted. What seem like flaws and design choices feel a little bit more like security measures. When I knock on the door and feel the firm resistance of solid metal, rather than wood, I’m sure of it.

  “Hello?” I shout. “We were wondering if you would like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”

  No reply.

  “I recommend Thin Mints, but—”

  The door opens a crack, stopping when the double-thick chain lock snaps tight.

  The tan face of a young woman stares at me through the gap. “If you don’t have any Samoas, you can buzz off.”

  “Is her,” Cowboy whispers.

  The woman’s eyes flit from me to Cowboy, to David and then to Cowboy’s sidearms. She’s just sized us up, and there’s not a trace of fear in her dark brown eyes.

  I don’t know if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.

  “I prefer Do-si-dos, myself,” David says, offering his genuine opinion.

  The woman looks at David, then back to me. “He’s new to this?”

  “Sorry,” I say. “Yeah.”

  “New to what?” David asks.

  “Witty banter before a fight,” a deep voice says from behind us.

  I glance back for a moment, not wanting to take my eyes off the girl behind the door. In that quick look, I see a tall, strong man with blond hair and a matching goatee. He’s dressed for a fight, like us, in body armor, with two large Desert Eagles holstered over his ribs. If he’s not bad enough, when I look back to the door, the woman is gone.

  Great.

  “So before I plug you asshats full of softball-sized holes, mind telling me what you’re doing on my front porch?”

  I’m about to answer when Cowboy takes the man’s words as a challenge to his gunslinger status. His hands move toward his .38 Supers. “No shooting. Just draw.”

  Before the man can agree or disagree with this macho arrangement, Cowboy moves, and I’ll be damned if the stranger doesn’t match the Czech’s quick draw. There’s no way to know if the man could have pulled the trigger as fast, or if his aim would be as deadly, but his uncanny and unflinching speed tells of a life spent drawing those big guns down on his enemies.

  “.38 Supers,” the man says, eyeing Cowboy’s guns. “Only two hundred ever produced.”

  “On this world,” Cowboy says. “Not as rare when you consider how many exist in other dimensions.”

  “Say what, now?”

  “Customized Dese
rt Eagles,” Cowboy says. “The wrist guards are nice touch. Allows single hand fire?”

  “These are ‘The Girls,’” the man says, waggling his guns without shifting the barrels away from Cowboy’s core. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t want a demonstration. But really, I’m not the one you need to worry about.”

  The man takes a few steps back, making way for two ten-foot-tall creatures composed of earth, rock and lawn. Living, but not living. I’m not sure who the man is, but there is no doubt about the girl’s identity.

  “Fiona Sigler,” I call out. “We’re not here for a fight.” A backhand slap to Cowboy’s shoulder prompts him to holster his weapons. We want these people to trust and help us, not try to bury us with living soil.

  The stairs creak again as I descend, hands raised. “Fiona, we need your help.”

  “Speak to me, baldy,” the man says.

  His big handguns are now aimed at me, but the ‘baldy’ comment tickles that part of my personality that draws verbal sewage with a speed and ease to match Cowboy’s quick draw. “Okay, bubba.”

  “Bubba?”

  “Maine,” I guess. “No, not quite. New Hampshire. Someplace backwoods, with lots of sheep for you to—”

  “You’re skating on thin ice, Masshole,” he says, showing me that my accent isn’t quite as subdued as I believed. “And by thin ice, I mean I’m about to shoot your pecker off.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” I say, starting to smile. I kind of like this guy.

  “Are you two done?” Fiona’s voice comes from above. I look up to find her perched on the shoulder of a dirt monster. In the clear light of day, I can see her American Indian features and long black hair, pulled back in a tight pony tail. Like the man, she’s dressed for a fight. For a moment, I wonder if they just walk around like this when they’re at home, but I decide they’re just efficient at getting ready to throw down.

  “Sorry, Fi,” the big man says, holstering his weapons. He points at me, “You should be glad the missus isn’t home. She’d have dropped you before you knocked on the door. Motherly instincts, you know.”