by Marie Dry
He didn’t appear wounded or even slightly disoriented, and she heard more people murmuring how he was in the spot that should’ve killed him. That he was bomb resistant.
Rachel knelt in front of one their colleagues who seemed physically fine, but totally out of it. She took off her jacket and placed it over the shivering man.
“Why are you so sure it’s a bomb?” Madison asked Rachel who tended to a woman who sat staring around her with dazed eyes.
Rachel shrugged. “The noise for one thing, and the type of injuries. Abrasions, bone fractures, blast injuries, and so on.”
Madison spotted her medical bag at last and grabbed it with numb fingers. It looked the worse for wear but the contents survived the blast intact. “How do you know so much about bomb related injuries?”
Rachel shrugged. “I saw a program about it on the TC.”
Madison strongly suspected the bomb was planted to take out the alien specifically. Not that it did whoever planted it any good. “We suffered while that alien stood on top of a bomb and walked away unscathed.” She heard the bitterness in her own voice and didn’t care. Frankenstein helping everyone today wouldn’t bring back Rory.
“I’ve heard they’re bullet proof,” Sandra said. She seemed to have escaped unscathed.
“Those monsters probably killed my brother. If there’s any justice in this world, Dr. Frankenstein would’ve died,” Madison told her. Even as she said it, she knew she didn’t want him dead.
“Dr. Frankenstein,” Sandra asked.
For once she didn’t snipe at Madison. She had no visible injuries--all of them were in shock--but Sandra seemed unfazed. Though shortly before the bomb went off she’d disappeared and that bothered Madison, though she didn’t know why.
“It’s one of her obscure references to ancient writing,” Rachel said.
“He’s a fictional character, a doctor who re-animated corpses,” Madison told them.
Rachel tried to smile. “I get it, he brought Viktor back to life.” Rachel was pale and shaking, despite being in the bathroom at the time the bomb went off. She tried to sound calm, but Madison could hear the tears she tried to suppress.
“Yes, though people used to confuse Dr. Frankenstein’s monster with him, which is actually quite fitting, because Viglar is a monster and a doctor,” Madison told them.
Sandra and Rachel paled and focused on something behind her. Madison didn’t have to turn to know, said Frankenstein stood behind her.
Resigned, she turned to face the alien that still haunted her dreams.
Madison pressed her lips together, refused to be intimidated by that black gaze that sometimes showed barely there red tendrils. No alien could intimidate a Johnson from Alabama. Though she had to admit, she might run real fast if he went for his sword.
He stood practically on top of her, towering over her. She’d known he was big, but this close she could see impressive muscles bulge under his uniform. Raised veins ran down his neck and disappeared inside his uniform. What did he look like without his clothes? The fit of his uniform hinted at a really good body. And she wasn’t going there.
“Your arm, show it to me,” he said before she could open her mouth and get herself killed.
She considered refusing, but in the end held out her sore arm. She didn’t even realize she was favoring it. His hands were big and tough looking and her normally thin arm looked fragile in his grasp. It was a strange feeling, since she never thought of herself as fragile. His nails were different, more claw like. They said when the aliens slaughtered the humans at the Battle of No Name Town, their claws extended into lethal weapons. She couldn’t suppress a shiver, and he gazed at her face, before focusing on her arm again. That brief glance seared her.
“You should eat more, human. Your arms and legs are like twigs.”
Madison glared at him and tried to jerk her arm back. He held her firmly while he sent the silver instrument over her again.
Sandra snickered and Madison wanted to hit her. Of course, the irritating woman would enjoy her embarrassment.
“I will send a nutrition plan to your primitive communications device and you will follow it.” He briefly ran his scanner over her. “I will expect you to be in better shape in a month.”
Madison stared up at him. How did he expect her to gain weight and get in better shape when he made her work all the time? She worked so many hours, buying food just didn’t factor into her day anymore. She would’ve loved to tell him a thing or two, but didn’t dare, for fear he’d take her off medical duty. Before she could decide if she should thank him or kick him, he turned and walked away.
“There’s nothing wrong with my weight. You should see my cousin Becky. She had to tie knots in her legs to have knees,” she told the others.
“You do have quite a colorful turn of phrase for every situation. A little backwoodsy for my taste, but quaint,” Sandra said with a falsely sweet smile.
“Maybe Joshua could come and tell the alien that he’s overworking you,” Rachel said. She’d had a crush on Joshua ever since he came to the city to bring Madison some home baked goods from her mother. Madison had thought it would pass, but Rachel seemed fixated on Joshua.
“Is that the brother you’re supposed to marry,” Sandra asked sweetly.
Madison glared at her. Sandra didn’t even try to be subtle anymore, why did the woman hate her so? So, she was from southern Alabama and their county had had some problems in the last century. So, her family weren’t stinking rich and her brothers were a bit rough. So, they ran a successful moonshine operation. They had to make a living somehow. Hands fisted, she faced Sandra. “What’s your problem? I’m getting tired of you sniping at me all the time.”
Sandra’s lips pulled down in a sneer. “Some of us actually deserved our place in this hospital.”
Madison wanted to slap the sanctimonious woman and took a step forward, but Rachel grabbed her and dragged her away.
“Let it go, she’s just jealous. Let’s go and help make sure all the wounded are seen to.”
“In your dreams. You have nothing for me to be jealous about,” Sandra called after them.
Ignoring the irritating woman, Madison and Rachel assisted those people too injured to go home.
An hour later, they left the last person in the ward set aside for the bomb casualties. “Let’s escape before Frankenstein puts us to work. Though he seems awfully interested in you,” Rachel said.
“What do you mean? He worked on everybody not just me.” And he said she looked like a stick figure.
“You’re the only one he talked to.”
“It was about my arm and him telling me in his professional opinion I was too thin. Nothing personal.”
“He watches you all the time. I noticed it yesterday,” Rachel insisted. “Whenever he comes into a room he looks around until he finds you.”
“No, it must’ve been your imagination. Or it’s because I keep bugging him in his office. He’s probably making sure where I am so I can’t corner him again.”
“Honestly, every time he came to check on us he would stare at you for a few minutes. Maybe he thinks you’re pretty,” Rachel said with an arch smile.
Madison shuddered and even if she was given the choice of being gator bait or telling the truth she’d never admit that the shudders weren’t totally distaste. “Don’t even think that. Alien eeuw.” Except she dreamed about him, night after night, no matter how tired she was she dreamt those sensuous dreams that left her aching and wanting.
“Miss Johnson, Miss Brown, I assume you’re ready to resume your painting duties. You each have an hour left.” Jacobson stood looking at them, failing to hide his pleasure at giving them the bad news.
Madison’s whole body ached, and she had a throbbing headache. “What? I can’t believe this. We’ve just been bombed. I’m happy to help with the wounded, but do you seriously expect me to paint now.”
“Viglar has left directions that work will continue as usual. You ha
ve strict instructions not to allow the bomb to disrupt the schedule of when work will be completed.”
“What do you mean he left instruction? Where is he?”
“You do not need to know his movements.” He tried to look all-knowing and superior, but Madison wasn’t fooled.
“Hah, I knew it. You don’t know where he is.”
“Come on, Madison, let’s get it done,” Rachel said and pulled her away from Jacobson.
They went back to painting with dragging feet. “I’m so tired I could sleep for a week,” Madison told Rachel. “I hope that alien gets a cramp for making us work even after we’ve been bombed.”
They both received new supplies and again she was impressed with the alien’s organization. She’d never seen equipment being replaced this fast. Her stomach turned when she faced the blood-spattered wall. They washed it down and then painted over the red stains. Twice she had to run and empty her churning stomach in the bathroom.
Clarkson joined them ten minutes later. He had a cut on his forehead, but was fine otherwise. “The resistance took credit for the blast. They claim it’s in retaliation for the people the aliens have driven out of the city.”
Madison was undecided about the aliens’ actions. Ever since they’d done that, it had been much safer to walk to her flat after work. If she knew it would end there, it might be all right. But what stopped them from kicking all the humans out of the cities? Or restricting them to certain areas?
“Hey, the aliens are issuing a statement,” someone shouted and activated a TC.
Instead of a TC image the same hologram who’d announced the conquest of earth appeared.
“In an act of human cowardice, a bomb was planted to kill my warrior. There will be consequences.”
Chapter 4
Viglar walked down the armor-plated corridor deep in the Rocky Mountains in Montana, where they’d chosen to make their headquarters. It reminded him of the barracks back on their home planet where he’d spent most of his time after his second change.
Viglar bit off a Zyrgin swear word when he heard a high girlish voice coming from the direction of the tunnel that led to Zacar’s breeders home. A warrior had dignity, should never run from the enemy. To run was the sign of a warrior with no courage or honor. He camouflaged himself and ran.
Zacar’s six-year-old daughter, Alissa and her tea parties were a menace to a decent warrior, who didn’t have time to sit on the floor at a miniature table and sip questionable fluids from a cup smaller than his smallest finger.
He switched off the camouflage, entered Zacar’s spacious office, and saluted. Zacar stood in front of a wall lit up with images, his back to Viglar. Zacar’s office was built for Zyrgin efficiency, with a desk and chair and the walls utilized as computers. Viglar was frequently amazed at the way humans cluttered their environment. The offices at the hospital looked like a market place.
Without moving from the probe, Zacar returned his salute. “Did you manage to dodge her?”
“Yes, she’s probably with Natalie,” Viglar said and kept to himself what the little human might be doing, when she wasn’t trying to trap unsuspecting warriors into tea parties. He planned to be far away from headquarters the day Zacar found out what his little human had been up to. To keep their human breeders happy, Zacar and Zurian had stolen human babies from a baby factory the humans called an orphanage. It was another example of the shameful way Zacar allowed Natalie to rule him. When Viglar took his breeder, he was determined to set an example for the other warriors. The image of a woman with a big mouth and ugly red hair flashed into his mind. She did not show the proper respect, but she had courage. For the first time he understood why the other warriors would attempt to do human teasing to please their breeders.
Viglar looked around at the armor-plated office, built deep in the Rocky Mountains. “This is beginning to look the way a Zyrgin stronghold should.”
It used to be a primitive cave that Natalie, Zacar’s human breeder lived in. Their mountain stronghold housed one of their spaceships, docking space for shuttles, and a replica of Natalie’s farm house. Zacar had used images of her home that had been burned down by raiders to create a home for her, safe inside the mountain.
Now the mountain housed Viglar’s infirmary, several offices, a control room, and quarters for the warriors without breeders stationed on earth. Outside on the mountain, four of the warriors had built dwellings for their breeders.
A few years ago, they’d left their home world to conquer a planet at the edge of space they called the unclaimed galaxy, so named because no one ever returned from it. They’d conquered all the habitable planets in their own galaxy and were looking farther for new conquest when they were sucked into a black hole near the unclaimed galaxy. A vast empty part of the universe no Zyrgin explorer had ever returned from alive. Their space ships damaged, they’d made an emergency landing on Earth, though Azagor, their engineer and technician insisted they crashed and messed up his equipment.
Their plans had changed when Zacar had saved a human woman, Natalie, from some drunks who later turned out to be raiders. Zacar decided they would stay and take Earth. Until Zacar met Natalie, the plan had been to continue on with their original mission.
Zacar was the leader of their expedition. The Zyrgin’s blood, what humans would call his son. Zacar was considered strong enough to produce a warrior with The Zyrgin’s strength. A Zyrgin was born every few centuries with the strength to rule, bigger stronger and more intelligent than other Zyrgins. Each Zyrgin born with the ability to rule also had special powers. They were almost always killed by the present Zyrgin. The Zyrgin ruling now had killed the ruling Zyrgin.
“The barracks for the additional warriors are done,” Zacar said. They’d tested a machine, that allowed them to send warriors back in time. As a result, their fifty strong invasion force had grown to thousands stationed all over the world. Normally when they conquered a planet they were merciless. Killing any opposition and establishing themselves as the absolute rulers. This time The Zyrgin and Zacar were experimenting with doing it differently.
Renamed Natalie City by Zacar, impenetrable with armored steel and a force field, the mountain and surrounding area would be their capitol city. They kept a low profile after Zacar announced the conquest. When the riots persisted, they had put them down ruthlessly. Zacar had their warriors march through Washington in a show of strength. Necessary because humans believed the hologram a hoax or that the Zyrgins were few in numbers.
“Report on the bomb,” Zacar said. He’d sent Viglar to the hospital in Helena because they suspected the rebels might be based there.
“It was meant to take me out. It detonated the moment I stepped into the room.” Viglar suspected the human with the stick-like arms and legs and ugly red hair had detonated the bomb the moment he stepped into the warm room that smelled unpleasantly of humans--the only human in the hospital brave enough to demand to see him and argue with him for what she wanted. He didn’t find the detonator on her when he scanned her, but she could’ve thrown it away.
“I suspect the red-haired doctor. The one with the spots on her skin that spoke out against us on the human news channel.” The human female he felt compelled to tease. He placed the crude detonator he’d found on Zacar’s desk.
Despite her ugly hair, he found himself obsessively watching her. And not because she might be with the resistance. She had an interesting way of talking, moved her expressive face and hands while her green eyes flashed with intelligence rare in a human.
Zacar cocked his head. “Are you sure?”
“She does not hide her hatred for us.” The bomb had detonated the moment she turned and saw him and she’d looked guilty. He still had trouble reading humans, but he’d learned much these last few years. The breeders frequently went where they were not supposed to and every time they were caught, they had that expression on their faces.
“Keep her close, find out why she hates us and if she planted the bomb,” Zacar
said.
“She might lead us to the other humans in their pitiful resistance,” Viglar said. Everything he observed thus far pointed to her as being involved with the resistance. Still he wanted her to be innocent. He couldn’t claim a traitor.
“For now, find out why she hates us and if she is working against us. I don’t want to dedicate more warriors to this than I already have. The work in space takes precedence over everything else,” Zacar said.
Fifteen warriors frantically worked to complete their secret project in space. Zacar was very secretive, though Viglar had his own theories about what they built in the space dock. He knew they used the readings from the crash to build a ship that compensated for the anomalies in the space around the unclaimed galaxy. The fact that only Zacar’s most trusted warriors worked on the project was telling.
“I have enough warriors available at the hospital.”
“Anything else to report?”
“I intercepted intelligence that a human is developing a virus to use against us,” Viglar said. He’d intercepted coded transmissions, but couldn’t find the humans sending it. They discarded the TC’s they used after every transmission. He found some of the discarded pieces of the primitive communication device, but Azagor couldn’t find traces of more than one transmission and the humans had been careful not to say too much.
“Is it possible for them to develop such a virus?” Zacar asked.
“Not likely, but it is possible. Developing a virus complex enough to attack our immune systems is not in their limited capabilities. That doesn’t mean there isn’t somewhere on Earth a doctor who knows enough to create a virus that can harm us.”
Zacar turned to face Viglar. “Let us assume they have a doctor capable of doing it, how long would it take them to develop such a virus?”
“Years, decades probably. Our biggest problem would be the element of chance. They might find the answer by accident. Tests like that sometimes yield dangerous side effects. Side effects they could use to cause us considerable harm.” Viglar had taken leaps forward in his own research through sheer chance. Zurian should not have to live with the threat of madness.
