by Ben Stevens
HOSTILE GENUS
©2021 BEN STEVENS
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Contents
Also In Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Also In Series
FROM THE PUBLISHER
Also In Series
INVASIVE SPECIES
HOSTILE GENUS
THE GOD SEED
ROOTS OF INFINITY
1
His hand on the back of Ratt’s chair, Jon braced himself against the turbulence and peered out through the viewport.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Ratt asked over his shoulder, keeping his eyes forward.
“You can say that again,” Jon mumbled, leaning in closer to admire the sweeping vistas zipping beneath them as they sped through the cloudless blue sky of the southern Far Rough.
“I’ve been up before, you know,” Jon said, “in a Hopper, but somehow, this is… I dunno, different.”
“Probably helps that you aren’t being shot at,” Ratt said with a smirk.
Jon raised his eyebrows, nodding in agreement.
“See that? Up ahead?” Ratt asked, pointing to the horizon.
Squinting, Jon perceived a thin blue line stretching from one end of the horizon to the other.
“That’s the Southern Water I was telling you about. I haven’t seen it since I was a boy.”
“I’ve never seen it…” Jon muttered, his thoughts turning to the expanse of unimaginably blue water he had seen in the Wa’ak Lum, the dream world where he had learned the truth of things from Maya. Well, maybe I have.
“I had no idea it was that close to Home,” Jon remarked.
“Close? Amigo, it’s not close at all. I know it’s only been two hours, but this baby is hauling ass.” Ratt grinned again, patting his chair’s armrest and turning to gauge Jon’s reaction.
Jon hadn’t considered that, but he supposed it made sense. The new-style transport that they had commandeered was one of only three recently built by the Republic Military. Unlike the comparatively skeletal ships that carried the Heavies into the Rough, like hanging coats on a winged rack, this vessel was thick, smooth, and wingless, from the outside appearing nearly featureless: a jet-black, stunted cigar. The ship, likely inspired by tech Warbak had obtained from his Harvester masters, seemed to defy gravity, making no sound, while cruising at speeds that made Hoppers seem motionless. The outside of the vessel was armored, and the inside was spacious. All in all, quite an impressive machine.
Turning around, Jon looked at his friends, new and old, and smiled. They sat in the chairs arrayed behind the pilot’s area, a smaller, more comfortable space that was probably reserved for a crew. Together with the pilot’s chair, they were on a higher level, with the main cargo area in the transport below, significantly larger and longer than the cantilevered upstairs. The main cargo area was a cold, metallic, utilitarian space, designed to house Hopper units and infantry, perhaps even an artillery unit or two, but too small for a Heavy Mech.
Lucy was talking to Maya, but Jon could not hear what was being said over the hum of machinery. Maya, while listening politely to Lucy, locked eyes with Jon and offered a slight smile.
On the other side of the aisle sat his lifelong bud, Rene, known as Carbine. Carbine had eaten a big breakfast before they left, and was slouched over, deep in the embrace of a carb-induced food coma. Jon had spent all his life side by side with his goofball friend and knew his habits well enough to guess that Carbine was undoubtedly sawing logs right now, but as with Lucy and Maya’s conversation, the noise was all but drowned out.
Jon returned Maya’s smile and looked around at the back of the crew area, his gaze coming to rest on the steep ladder-stairs that led below. Compulsively, he began to visualize the inventory of everything they’d brought along, and soon he was re-living the last few weeks.
The fight to secure even one transport had been fierce.
No one had expected the transition of the Human Republic into its new form to go smoothly, but no one had thought it to work out quite like it had either.
Despite Maya’s and Miller’s attempts to explain the consequences of Warbak’s actions to the citizens of Home, nearly a third of the New Breed and Last Gen could not stomach living side by side with Unpure humans and Invasives, now officially referred to as “the Displaced.”
“When one has lived their whole life in the darkness, their vision becomes adjusted to it. So when someone comes along and flips on the light, thinking that they are doing them a favor, the dark dwellers may become resentful, for that flood of alien light is painful and shocking. Their natural reflex is to shriek and turn the light back off, to seek refuge in the familiar comfort of the dark,” Maya had explained to a frustrated Jon.
Thankfully, by some miracle, violence had for the most part been avoided. Despite that blessing, peace could not be achieved yet. The differences between the new order and the Old Guard, who, regardless of what they had learned about Warbak and the Harvesters, refused to accept the Displaced as citizens, simply could not be reconciled.
The leader of those who refused to cooperate was a man named Martin. Jon and Carbine had trained under him in the Academy, but they had never been close. Martin was one of the survivors who went beyond refusing to accept the Displaced as equals in need of help instead of threats to the human race or Earth, even going so far as to deny the wicked intent behind Accoba Warbak’s executed plan to transform every New Breed into the robotic killing m
achines called Spartans. He insisted that Warbak must have had a reason for what he had done, and publicly denounced Maya as an esoterrorist whose lies must not be believed.
Shortly after the cleanup of what came to be known as the Incident—the term given to the transformation of the Spartans and rebel uprising in the Shanty— the Old Guard, outnumbered and outgunned, announced that they would leave Home and take refuge in one of the more prominent enclaves in the Eastern Farmlands, a place called Lincoln. Only force would stop them.
Jon had seen and understood the plight in Maya’s eyes. Part of her wanted to stay in Home, to help Miller fight for lasting peace and unity, yet every time she looked at Jon, her determination would cave and shatter, like the orbs Jon had smashed in the battle for the liberation of Home.
For they both knew that if they did not reach the Morning Star, did not finish the race and retrieve the Anvil, Jon was doomed.
The serum that Jon had taken before her rescue from the Ministry had given him great powers, rendering him a veritable super-human, enabling him to go toe-to-toe with Hoppers and Spartans single-handedly. But that power came at a price. The serum was burning him up from the inside out, and if a cure wasn’t found in the promise of the Anvil’s redemptive power, he would burn out and die before the end of the New Year.
Knowing that a peace had not been reached made it difficult for Maya, as well as everyone else, to leave Home. But leave they must, trusting the fate of Home to Miller and the others.
When Maya and Lucy refused to let the Old Guard take all the military transports for their exodus, violence had almost broken out once more.
“You conquer our city, our Home, and then deny us the opportunity to leave?” Martin had asked. Jon had been there, never leaving Maya’s side in the days after the cleanup. Martin’s body language and careful wording of questions had set Jon to unease. It seemed to him that this man, one whom he would have called a brother just a month before, was hoping to instigate irreparable damage to the negotiations. The man wanted a fight.
“No one is denying you the chance to go, if that is what you and your people insist on doing,” Maya had replied coolly. “However, your choice to leave does not require that we leave ourselves with no means for long-range travel and exploration. In fact,” Maya continued, standing as straight and tall as possible, “nothing about your choice requires anything from us. It is your choice to leave, not ours to make you go. By allowing you a third of the military equipment, a third of the farmlands, and the majority of the transports, we are being more than generous.”
“Generous, you say?” Martin scowled. “How very kind of you.” His eyes narrowed, and Jon took a step closer to the goddess, squaring his shoulders and tacitly reminding Martin that he was there. The slits of Martin’s eyes turned on Jon.
“You must be very proud of yourself, dethroning our glorious Chairman, only to replace him with this Drop-trash-loving harlot queen.”
“That’s enough. Take your two transports and get out of here, Martin. We’re done.”
Later, Miller had expressed his concerns to Jon and Maya about the tenor of the negotiations.
“We may live to regret giving them military equipment.”
“While it was their choice to leave Home, we don’t want them to die out there. There are still Beasties behind every bush, under every hill, and don’t forget, the Harvesters will be back someday.”
Jon had hung around and watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach as Martin and the Old Guard packed up a sizeable portion of Home’s might and disappeared into the Rough. An unsettling feeling had come over him that he couldn’t shake despite his best attempts at optimism.
We haven’t seen the last of him.
Later that night, after the sun had set, Jon had met up with his friends and helped pack the last remaining transport for their journey to the Morning Star.
“Hey, c’mon. Don’t worry, bud. We’ll be back in a couple of days. Everything is going to be okay,” Carbine had assured him with a slap on the back.
They’d worked through the evening, loading the supplies for the trip into the cargo hold of the transport, which, as fate or luck would have it, contained four four-wheeled all-terrain vehicles.
These will come in handy later. Jon had run his hand along one’s chassis, admiring and inspecting it, unconsciously comparing its make to the Republic Easy Rider that he suddenly realized he missed.
Before long, the bay had been filled with foodstuffs, weapons, medical supplies, and a wide assortment of camp-making and survival gear, as well as what seemed to be most of a machine shop—the last of which Ratt proudly took credit for bringing along.
Maya had wanted to leave immediately. Ratt, on the other hand, argued strongly for sleeping until the next morning. Maya was eager to reach Xibalba, but Ratt countered with the fact that although Jon could see the gold column of light in the distance, he had no way of gauging the actual distance to the light.
“There isn’t much point in flying through the night only to have to land somewhere in the morning in order to get some rest. And, if we are over the ocean, we can’t land and rest. I would say let’s take shifts, but I’m the only one here really capable of handling this bad boy.” Nobody could refute that with any reasonable argument, and so it had been decided that they would depart in the morning.
The decision had sparked a new idea in Maya. Once they had finished packing and taking inventory, she went to Wyntr and asked the child to show her the golden pillar as well. The girl had happily agreed. Maya easily shaped a Strange that allowed the child not only to take Maya on the same trip as Jon, “seeing” in her mind’s eye the location of the Morning Star and its environs, but also to share the girl's story—memories of the child’s home, her people, and her long, arduous journey to Home. The goddess had gone to sleep that night deeply satisfied with the way things had developed so far. She shared with her company her thoughts and feelings of the fulfillment of their destinies and the rightness of their course.
The morning had brought with it clear skies and goodbyes.
Jon had joined Maya in saying farewell to Miller, Wyntr, and the rest of the inner circle, promising to return within a week at most. Wyntr, not wanting to be left behind by her savior, cried and clung to Maya’s legs.
Lucy had read on their faces their desire to concede to the child’s wishes. “This quest is going to be very dangerous, and is not safe for children,” she insisted.
“Feroz Pantera, we are heading right to her home. Why can we not return her to her people along the way?” Maya implored. The little girl had looked up at her and smiled hopefully, her brown eyes welling with tears.
“My lady, would it not be better to return her to her people after the Anvil’s been recovered and our foes defeated? To take her away from the safety of Home would not only endanger her, but would harm the entire party, as we would have to care for and protect her at all times.” Lucy’s deathly floral-painted face and eyes were stony, ignoring the heartbreaking look from Wyntr.
Jon had watched the scene unfold and came to Maya and the child, putting his hands on their shoulders to comfort them.
Maya had acquiesced, despite appearing as if a protest might burst from her lips at any moment. Nodding, she knelt down to the girl and hugged her closely, whispering in her ear. Another small tear had trickled its way down the girl’s cheek, but she smiled and said, “Okay!”, returning Maya’s hug. Jon had seen this trick from Maya before and wondered just what the goddess had again told this troubled girl.
After a few more preparations, the five of them—Maya, Lucy, Ratt, Carbine, and Jon— had boarded the loaded transport and taken off into the azure skies in search of their salvation—and that of the world.
“Jon? Earth to Jon!”
“Huh? What?” Jon snapped out of his daydream and turned again to face Ratt in the cockpit.
“I didn’t think you’d want to miss this.” Ratt gestured at the viewport and what lay beyond.
“Wow,” Jon said softly. “We’re really making good time.”
“Sure are. Whaddaya think? About time for another course correction check?”
“Yeah,” Jon agreed. “Good idea.”
Three times already since leaving, he had tried the meditation to check their course. All he had to do was close his eyes and recall the great green-covered hill, and then open his eyes and look. Every time, without fail, it was there: a shaft of golden light, reaching from the vanishing point of the curve of the planet to the heavens above.
This time, as with the last, the pillar of light was there, now slightly to their right: west, as Jon correctly guessed.
“That way, just a little bit.” Jon pointed, and Ratt adjusted their flight path accordingly.
“There, right there.” Jon gave Ratt a thumbs-up and went back to admiring the view.
They spent a silent hour that way, flying above the blue sea, straight toward the golden light. He was just about to take a break from the view and see how Maya was doing, when all hell broke loose.
