The Chronicles of Qi

by J E Kerry

  “If I may, gentlemen, my calculations - “

  “You think ...?” Azarov ignores him with his own idea of what might have happened.

  “Distraction. The princess was a distraction,” Brooks agrees as if reading his thoughts.

  “Let us not jump to false conclusions,” Tsung chimes in with his usual diplomatic way of analyzing situations while Tinibu shakes his head with rolling eyes from behind.

  Counselor Azarov points around the empty streets and buildings. “Then how else do you explain this?!” he asks a clueless Tsung.

  “Let’s find out,” he suggests with a deep breath, already guessing that this might just be the beginning of a very long night and he leads the High Council to the Dome Complex at the end of the street, swiftly.

  The group enters the holographic surveillance room as a feminine AI greets them.

  “Welcome High Council. How may I be of assistance?”

  “Please rewind the footage 8 hours,” Tsung requests as he steps closer to the holo-screens.

  “As you wish, Counselor Tsung,” the AI responds and rewinds the footage while the counselors curiously study each scene.

  Azarov finally catches sight of his father, “Stop! There’s my dad.”

  The footage pauses, and he uses his own hands to zoom in closer.

  “Look at his nose… it’s bleeding,” Azarov notices, worried sick for his father.

  “Rewind 5 minutes,” Tsung requests again.

  The rewound scenes reveal young and old AN-CDC citizens being hit by a frequency wave. Dark blood runs freely from their noses and ears, their minds forced into a hypnotic state.

  “Did you see that?” Brooks asks the others. “Go back,” he says to the AI.

  The footage rewinds once more.

  “There!” Brooks shouts. “It’s some kind of interference.”

  It dawns on Tsung, “A frequency wave, of course.”

  “Only the Lyr-ans could have pulled that off,” Brooks suggests as he zooms into the scene, going through all angles.

  “But, to what end?” Tsung wonders.

  “Enslavement,” Azarov says determined.

  Brooks and Azarov get into further speculations.

  “They take the weakest first and wait for the military to swarm out, just to hit them with another wave. Down there we were shielded. Up here, we’re vulnerable,” Azarov suggests. “Their technology would be too much for us.”

  Once more, Tinibu shakes his head while listening patiently to their theoretical assumptions.

  Brooks agrees, “They wanted us to see this, so we would alarm the military and drive them right into their arms.”

  Counselor Tsung is manually rewinding the footage, as he finds something else and pauses.

  “There’s more,” he points to the image.

  The holo-screen exhibits an unidentifiable human courier on a hover-board, stopping at one of the compound walls.

  The counselor zooms in, revealing the courier positioning a triangular device, set on a five minutes countdown. The tattoo on his right-hand index is distinctively identifiable as a mark of the enemy.

  “A Rebel,” Tsung realizes while Tinibu can’t hold it any longer.

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you guys,” it finally bursts out of him, drawing all attention to the back of the room where he has taken a seat and is eating some left-over salad from a plate on the table.

  “According to my calculations, there was a 99% chance that the Rebels would sooner or later seek the opportunity to strike back while we are busying ourselves with the Lyr-ans,” Tinibu says, with a loud crunchy bite into his vegetables. “If you would take me and my words more seriously, we could have prevented this. Or have you already forgotten... how my calculations saved the entire human race in the past?”

  An awkward silence falls on the room.

  Brooks is the first to apologize. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Tito.”

  “We’re all sorry,” Tsung admits.

  “Apologies accepted,” Tinibu says satisfied and finishes off the salad, joining everyone at the screens. “Now, let’s get to the bottom of this.”

  Tsung winds forward to the point where the courier puts his headphones on and leaves the spot, right after the device counts down and triggers a sound-blast.

  It is clear now what needs to be done, “We must regroup,” Tsung says decided and leads the High Council in briskly strides to the exit.

  * 7 HOURS AGO *

  A black crow glides over the intimidating and dangerous mountain range of the New Asia Plateau. It’s the hidden spot of the Rebels and their craft which flit in and out of the caverns, cloaked to stay undetected by the AN-CDC.

  The silhouette of an invisible craft slows right in front of the cliff-face and slips into one of the caverns. It travels through the mountain’s cave passageway and dives down into the central lake before returning to float on its surface.

  Hundreds of infected A-Nation citizens materialize on the ground, including Professor Azarov and Zhao Yun’s girlfriend Amy, 28, Chinese and beautiful. They all show a distinctive paleness and a sort of pink-colored mutation around their irises.

  A group of Rebels appears, led by Draven Frost. He is a vicious-looking, one-eyed Cyborg hybrid with multiple body parts blown off and replaced in battle. His face is in a permanent sneer, and he wordlessly leads the captives through the V-shaped tunnel in front of them, right into the second cave, where a spherical alien craft hovers connected to the holographic bridge above the lake.

  As the Rebels and AN-CDC citizens reach the sphere’s gate, they disappear one by one behind its luminous walls.

  Meanwhile on the mothership, Queen Ce-loo-me, dressed in the Lyr-an version of a night gown and sublimely levitating in the air, breaks from her meditation as Droncur interrupts at the door, reporting telepathically in Saren.

  “He has arrived, my Queen.”

  Ce-loo-me gracefully sets foot on the organic and somewhat crystalline ground, “Let him in”.

  Sniper enters the room. He deactivates the Lyr-an face-inducer ring he wields to falsify his appearance upon entry, revealing his Lyr-an appearance, featuring the typical silvereyes and white hair.

  “My Queen,” he bows.

  Ce-loo-me goes over to her organic Lyr-an altar. With a pestle small enough to fit in a child’s palm, she grinds the herbs and flowers in a golden bowl, using an organic mortar.

  “What news do you bring me?” She projects into his mind.

  “The Council is mobilizing the military to investigate the Rebels further,” Sniper explains, a bit elated once again to communicate in natural telepathic fashion while being in his natural form. It is always a very relaxing experience for him, however briefly he engages in it.

  “Then everything is going to plan,” Ce-loo-me is relieved as she puts the mixture into a golden cup that fills up with water in what would look like magic to the unenlightened eye, and hands it to Sniper.

  “My dear, how long has it been?” she then intimately locks eyes with him.

  “Too long, my Queen,” he replies with a little bow, expressing his respect by keeping the eye-contact with her to a minimum.

  “What about that girl?” she says, having entered his thoughts.

  Sniper, feeling caught and uncomfortable with whatever answer he might come up with, stands there trying to put a response together while the queen tenderly caresses his face.

  “Are you attracted to her?” Ce-loo-me guesses. The idea that royalty could look into the soul of their subjects pervaded many cultures throughout time, and Cee-loo-me is doing much with her gaze to reinforce this idea.

  Sniper appears ashamed for having developed feelings for Jodie, aka ‘that girl’ and lowers his head even more.

  “I release you,” she says.

  “My Queen?” he looks up suddenly, nearly tongue-tied.

  Ce-loo-me gently pushes upward his hands that are wrapped around the cup to his lips, making him drink.

  “Y
ou have healed my wounds for a very long time and served well. I release you to choose what your heart desires,” she says as Sniper swallows the last bit of the mixture and gets down on one knee, choking. “You have my blessings,” she says and holds her hands over his head, summoning a cloud of red-glowing particles out of his body and into the air. A moment passes and he catches his breath, rising slowly to his feet.

  “Thank you, my Queen,” Sniper says with a bow and look of relief, finally being ‘unbound’, which, in his position, is a very big deal to a Lyr-an warrior under the direct orders of the queen. “You may leave now,” she adds softly.

  Sniper respectfully bows goodbye and is just about to exit her chamber, when the queen has one last thought for him, “Ele-on-dur.”

  He stalls at the door, looking over his shoulder.

  “You will be missed.”

  ∞∞∞

  * BACK TO THE PRESENT *

  The gigantic central holo-sphere on Level 8 reveals three potential vortexes around the reservation of the Rebels. The High Council and military high ranks are gathered, discussing how to surround the enemy and rescue all missing A-Nation citizens.

  “The problem is that our drones and fighters will be detected by their radar within seconds,” General Ma expresses to Tsung and Azarov while Tinibu is just about to whisper into Brooks’ ear, already one step ahead.

  “Let me guess,” Brooks says. “According to your calculations we might be dead by tomorrow.”

  Tinibu looks positively surprised at him, “Not precisely but close. There is a -”

  “50/50 chance that the Rebels will win,” Brooks adds.

  “Ok, now you’re just showing off,” Tinibu can’t hide his slight annoyance that his friend already knew what he was just about to say.

  Brooks grins back at Tinibu, satisfied, as Sniper joins the meeting from across and steps into their circle.

  “We’ve got a mole who reported that the Rebels actually are living inside the mountain, only reachable through caverns and the lake,” Commander Wu reveals.

  “So, how…?” Counselor Azarov asks confused.

  “With alien craft,” the commander replies and blows up the mole’s recorded holo-footage of two Rebels stepping into an Alien-Grey craft.

  Sniper recognizes the design but remains silent.

  “The Rebels never stopped operating with the Greys,” Wu continues. “According to our current knowledge, they were planning on going into an offensive, but we haven’t heard back from our source since the Lyr-ans arrived.”

  “And that didn’t set off any alarm bells?” Azarov wonders.

  “Well, with everything going on,” Wu tries to defend his position as Sniper cuts him short, changing subject and leading everyone’s attention back to the issue, “We attack at night.”

  Tsung agrees silently with Sniper’s initiative and confirms with a trusting nod.

  ∞∞∞

  After midnight, Sniper and his rescue team have made their way into the caverns of the mountain, undetected by the Rebels. They step out of their craft, followed by Zhao Yun and his team from the second one behind. Zhao is tense, knowing that his girlfriend Amy is among the infected citizens. He tries his best to blend out any personal feelings and focus on his task.

  Two spy-flies, tiny, nano-manufactured artificial insects, enter the sphere’s cavern and scan the perimeter, transmitting images right back to the teams.

  Sniper receives the footage on his Visuals, wondering to himself, “No guards?”

  Inside the sphere most of the A-Nation citizens have been almost completely genetically mutated into bald hybrid Greys, with the singular exception of Amy, and her alone. It isn’t yet clear why but her natural black hair has transformed to shades of white and the color around her iris to black. The porcelain skin shows only hints of grey tissue on her still human fingers. It might have something to do with her DNA, enough for the Grey’s to take a very special interest in her.

  The alien hand of a malevolent Grey reaches out for Amy. Its fingers are long and skeletal, much like the rest of it. The lanky frame is imposing regardless, for the way it towers over other alien Greys. Its hollow cheeks and the large, round eyeballs seem to lack the capacity to compassion or warm emotion in any way she could understand.

  Amy is led like cattle into an oval-shaped portal, followed by the other zombified A-Nation citizens that disappear one after another through the plasma.

  As Sniper’s and Zhao’s teams arrive in close distance to each other outside the sphere, coming from opposite directions, they trigger an unfamiliar Alien-Grey radar technology.

  The Rebels pick up speed in trafficking their quarry, but otherwise give no sign they are aware of an incursion.

  “The X-Ray isn’t working,” Sniper communicates telepathically with Zhao, “they are jamming us”.

  “How could they know we’re here?” Zhao asks.

  “Maybe they don’t,” Sniper considers.

  “What do you suggest, Sir?” Zhao asks.

  “We use SF1 and 2 to go in.,” he commands.

  “Roger that,” Zhao confirms.

  The spy-flies receive the transmitted order to liquidize and squeeze through the gates.

  Inside the sphere, SF1 (Spy Fly no1) squeezes through and attaches itself to Draven’s shoulder as he walks by the gate and continues to the center of the craft. The muscular Cyborg hybrid crosses in front of the line of turned A-Nation citizens and checks their faces. The ones which have completely mutated are taken out of the row and will be directed to the oval-shaped portal. The others, who have only been partially mutated, are forced into cells behind holo-bars.

  Outside the sphere, Zhao intently monitors the footage, hoping to spot Amy within the crowd.

  “Come on, Amy, where are you?” he thinks to himself. His hand almost trembles on his weapon, but he holds it steady, remaining in his crouch and watching the screen obsessively.

  “We’re too late,” Sniper realizes.

  “Sir?” Zhao asks with worry clinging to his voice.

  “The Greys know we’re here,” he explains. “That’s why they lead them into their dimension. Any move would kill the ones left behind. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “But Sir?” Zhao wonders.

  “We have to wait,” Sniper says after a small inhale. It is the most effective course of action. “That’s an order. Do you copy?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Zhao rogers as he hides his worst fears, his composure rigid and professional, yet a single look into his eyes would reveal his internally collapsing emotional state.

  In close distance to the mountain range and the woods, the cloaked SFB fighters and the Alien-Grey craft engage in a fierce combat in the night-sky.

  The dogfight has one of the SFB fighters rocketing through the mountainous landscape. The SFB pilot does everything to shake the enemy off his tail and masters a moderately effective job of not taking many hits. With a sudden drastic maneuver, he turns off his craft in mid-flight and the fighter ceases motion, beginning with an instant drop. It falls several meters and the enemy craft, entirely surprised by the maneuver, slows to make a quick turnaround.

  The pilot has already recovered and reactivates his vehicle, rising back into battle distance and unleashing all plasma strikes at once.

  The alien craft is destroyed in a flash of light and hail of metal.

  But this unknown SFB pilot does not have time to celebrate his victory. An alien craft laser besets the mountainside, sending house-sized boulders collapsing down the cliff-face and obliterating the SFB fighter.

  This exchange of casualties carries on in the air with the poetry of nature represented in the movement patterns of the large number of craft that engage in the combat in the skies. They are not very different from swarms of insects in their manner of operation.

  Minutes later, the last of the mutated A-Nation citizens disappear with Draven through the portal. SF1’s footage is immediately cut off once Draven is through the
plasma.

  “Damn!” Sniper expresses, disappointed.

  Inside the sphere, Zhao's SF2 is about to unlock the heavily secured alien-tech gate.

  Zhao updates the teams, “SF2 is almost through”.

  “Send her to us and proceed,” Sniper instructs.

  “Roger that,” Zhao says as the gate opens and his team swarms in, rushing through the corridor to the center of the sphere. The vortex has already closed and only about one hundred partially mutated A-Nation citizens remain behind holo-bars.

  The soldiers are overwhelmed by the image of the changed appearance with disgust and worry of their own family members being the first things that come to mind. Zhao has little time to think about their alien transformation and instead actively searches the rows for Amy. Once he finds her, they can attend to the mutation if it was possible. He just needed to find her first. At least.

  Sniper arrives a moment later, his hands going to the air with open palms in order to calm the tensed atmosphere.

  “Listen everyone,” he says. “Whatever is going through your mind, keep it together.”

  He spots Professor Azarov behind the holo-bars and deactivates them via his Visuals that are not the usual SFB Visuals but a Lyr-an version, able to read and manipulate Alien-Grey holo-tech. Now is the right time to use them without raising any suspicion while everyone else is busy with the infected.

  “Just remember, they are still our people,” he adds.

  ∞∞∞

  Hours later, back at the SFB hangar, Sniper and his soldiers step out of their carriers, followed by the still suffering, half-mutated A-Nation citizens.

  “Lead them to the med-bridge,” Sniper says to Zhao. “They’ll have to pass quarantine first.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Zhao copies as Sniper closes the gap to him and approaches telepathically.

  “And join me afterwards. We’re leaving.”

  Zhao’s face freezes for a second. He’s shocked to hear the news.

  “Don’t worry, we’re gonna find her,” Sniper ensures him as he takes Zhao by his shoulders and resumes telepathically in Saren, “Our job on Earth is done, for now.”