by Wearmouth
“We need to move,” Hagellan said.
Denver kept his rifle by his side and advanced. He squeezed the grip, ready to raise and shoot if required. The situation didn’t feel dangerous, but he had no frame of reference for trusting tredeyans.
Hagellan led them between the two aliens. One turned to look at Denver as he passed. It blinked, making a wet peeling sound as its eyelids closed and opened. The dull armor plates around each limb and torso looked too ungainly to be practical, but when the alien shoved the door to widen the gap, an electric whir came from the elbow area.
Servo-assisted power suits, he thought. Interesting tech.
One of the tredeyans followed inside as the door closed. Four thick metallic bolts, at the top and bottom of the frame, electronically snapped into rings, securing it.
At the end of a short, ten-meter-long tunnel, Hagellan slipped off a glove and palmed a pad attached to the wall. A black sheet of glass at the end smoothly slid open with a quiet hiss, making Layla gasp over the intercom.
Beyond Hagellan was a huge cavernous space buzzing with activity.
Denver and the others walked in and glanced around the large square area. It was at least fifty meters across and twenty meters high. And all carved out of solid rock.
A few hundred tredeyans stood in front of circular green screens positioned on a workbench that ran around the perimeter of the cavern. They tapped on pads in front of them, acting oblivious to the humans’ presence. They wore gray three-quarter-length trousers and nothing on their torsos, which were semitranslucent ivory in color, exposing the dark shapes of their internal organs.
Their beady eyes flickered from their pads to the screens as they chattered and clicked to each other. To Denver, they resembled biped insects but with almost humanlike faces—if their eyes weren’t so far apart and their noses weren’t actually just small breathing holes covered with a layer of chitinous material.
High-definition screens attached to the walls displayed streams from different parts of the planet. Most focused on scion fighters and the black prism glinting in the sky. Denver got a chill in his bones when he saw it up close. The thing just looked so… wrong. So… alien.
“Ugly,” Charlie said through the intercom, breaking Denver’s thoughts away from the prism.
“They think the same about you,” Hagellan said.
Denver’s hand twitched on his rifle again. What he would give to plug the bastard right there and then. But he resisted—they needed air and supplies first.
“This is one of the command centers and staging posts,” Hagellan said. “They control drones, weapons, and communicate with the other defenses.”
“They don’t seem bothered we’re here,” Layla said.
“You are with me.”
“What about blowing the gate?” Charlie said.
“They stopped using it a long time ago. Only croatoan ships transport through it since we took control of the planet.”
“Control? I thought you were allies?” Layla said.
“We are. You can’t begin to understand the geopolitics of my people’s empire. But you’re wasting time with petty questions. Follow me to the staging area. I’ll introduce you to the commander of zone four.”
Denver moved alongside Hagellan as he passed a row of tredeyans surrounding a central screen. One glanced over its greasy shoulder. Denver looked away, wanting to avoid eye contact, and followed Hagellan toward an entrance on the far side of the room.
“Is there another way back to Earth?” Denver asked.
“No,” Hagellan said, snapping his response before leading them beyond the command center.
A natural cavern lay on the other side of the command center. A straight path cut through the rocks. Bright lights were attached high on the brown walls, just before the roof arched at a height of forty meters.
Numerous tunnels of varying size led off to the left and right.
Denver counted at least fifty as they headed toward a loud collection of mechanical noises at the far end of the path. He wondered where they might lead and if any would provide an escape route if required.
Most of the tunnels were shrouded in darkness or disappeared around bends, but he spotted signs of life along one of them. He stopped and peered into the gloom, spotting an area packed with small green cages. A tredeyan leaned in front of one and held what looked like a piece of meat on a metal spike through the bars.
“Come,” Hagellan urged.
Charlie nudged Denver and he followed his dad, tracing Hagellan’s footsteps.
Layla kept pace with Denver, occasionally glancing aside to him, her face trying to communicate something more complex than her expression. Denver could guess what she was thinking but couldn’t respond, not while they were here, underground, with god knows what.
As they neared the end, the path twisted round to the left. Denver stopped and took a deep breath. The cavern opened up and the path descended into a two kilometer or so wide bowl-shaped area.
Four shallow levels packed with hundreds of alien machines, crafts and vehicles ran down to a parade ground at the bottom. At least five thousand troops in tredeyan armor lined up in formation, watching strange icons flash on a large blue holographic map of the planet. Information streamed below it.
“Jesus Christ,” Charlie said.
Layla pressed her hand against her forehead. “You can say that again. This is nuts… crazy. I can’t believe we’re seeing all this… I mean, it’s just started to hit home where we are, what we’re seeing.”
Being born during an alien invasion, Denver grew up with the concept of aliens as normal. For him, this wasn’t so shocking. It stood to reason for him that there were more in space, which meant more danger for the human race. Charlie once showed him around the crumbling remains of the Metlife stadium while giving a lesson about their former culture. The idea of watching competitive sport seemed abstract to him, even a little pointless compared to what he had devoted his life to.
He scanned the cavern, looking for sources of imminent danger.
A platform raised a graphite-colored aircraft to the upper level of the bowl. Two bipeds, the size of humans, in dark blue uniforms and helmets with mirrored visors, sat in the domed cockpit of the V-shaped craft.
The ship looked built for combat with its numerous gun turrets and sharp angles. It reminded him a little of the US stealth fighters he had seen crashed into the woods.
The platform twisted and the light blue rear engines roared. Natural light washed the craft, coming from a wide rectangular entrance near the roof of the cavern.
“Wait here,” Hagellan said. “We might have trouble. I’ll talk with them.”
“Talk to who?” Denver said.
Hagellan pointed toward the left edge of the cavern. “We have other company.”
Three croatoan hunters stood by their distinctive cobalt blue fighter craft. The sight of them made Denver sick to his stomach as he thought of Baliska.
The fighter rose from the platform and hovered in the air for a couple of seconds before accelerating forward and zipping out of the gap. Its engine’s roar reverberated along the launch tunnel as the natural light disappeared beneath a motorized canopy.
A hundred or so of the troops on the parade ground filed out of a tunnel on ground level. Hagellan made it to the bottom of the ramp and approached the three hunters.
“Are you watching this?” Denver said.
“Like a hawk,” Charlie said.
“This is unbelievable,” Layla said. “Look down there.”
She pointed down to the second ramp. A hover-bike in the style of a catamaran spiraled into the air and headed for the launch tunnel. A tredeyan driver sat at the front and controlled it using a bright touch screen. Another stood behind the turret of a mounted pulse cannon.
“Run,” Hagellan croaked through the intercom.
“What?” Denver said.
Two of the hunters sprang at Hagellan and hauled him to the ground.
“Run for the tunnels. Keep heading up—”
The feed cut to static. Denver looked at Charlie and back down toward the croatoans. The remaining hunter, dressed in meshed gray body armor, peered up and drew its sword.
“I think Hagellan meant get the hell out of here,” Layla said.
“No shit,” Denver said. “Let’s move!”
Charlie unslung his rifle. “Follow me.”
Denver checked his oxygen reading. They had one hour left and were now on the run in an alien cavern system. Not good. Not good at all. He sprinted after Charlie and Layla as they headed for the nearest tunnel.
They disappeared through its dark entrance. Denver turned to check behind before following the other two. The croatoan hunter tore around the corner.
Denver backed into the darkness, avoiding being spotted. “Come on, get going. It’s right outside looking for us.”
“I’m taking it nice and slow,” Charlie said. “Who knows what we’ll bump into?”
They rounded a dogleg. At the end of the tunnel a small glow of white light spilled out of a room. Charlie ran forward, leaned against the wall and looked around the corner. “Looks like a lab. There’s an entrance on the other side.”
“Go for it,” Layla said.
The noise of metal scraping on rock screeched from behind them. Denver knew the hunter must have seen him. He aimed into the darkness and backed away, following Charlie and Layla into the brightly lit lab area. Vials and measuring instruments cluttered the metal tables.
Charlie swept an opaque piece of plastic to one side and entered a carved stone corridor. Layla held the sheet back to allow Denver to back safely in. They turned and ran into darkness, their hurried footsteps slapping against the smooth surface.
Glass shattered against the floor in the lab. The damned hunter was right on their trail now. Charlie skidded to a halt at the end of the rough-hewn tunnel.
Layla screamed, her voice high-pitched and full of panic as an alien shriek pierced the air. A muscly tentacle lashed out from the shadows, knocking Denver’s rifle out of his hand. A black, stealthy form slithered across the wall. Denver turned to face the enemy and staggered back at the sight of it as it prepared to attack.
CHAPTER THREE
Sparks arced through the cold frigid air like a rainbow of fire. Each ember sizzled against the workshop’s stone floor made frosty by the chilled exhalations of autumn.
The grinder screamed its satisfaction while smoothing off the sharp edges of Augustus’ new steel mask. The croatoan engineer had proved to be surprisingly artistic in its creation.
Augustus had only given him a rough sketch of what he wanted, but the little alien took the task personally and embellished the design with dramatic eyebrows, deep cheekbones and a breathing grille hidden beneath cruel lips.
The idea initially was to polish the steel to a high chrome-like gleam, but standing there in the workshop, Augustus liked the tarnished texture. Each sweep of the grinder added a streak of tightly woven scratches.
“I like it,” Augustus said with a smile. He ran a fingertip down the scarred side of his face, tracing the labyrinth of smooth tissue, each one a reminder of his past—and his future.
The scars were prophecy.
He had, against all odds, and known laws of biology, endured through the ages. This new mask represented the next stage of his twisting tale.
Augustus the conqueror would return once more. Despite the failures and losses, he knew he was on the right path.
When one was a god, the fates were in your favor, and time became an abstract construct to play with as a child might play with wooden blocks.
The croatoan engineer shut off the grinder, the electric motor winding down with a whine. The mask, held in the vice at an angle, glowed beneath the orange overhead lamp as though it were freshly cast in the very fires of creation.
Augustus stepped forward and released the mask from the vice. He held it there, in both hands, admiring the brutal visage the engineer had crafted upon its surface.
“You’ve done well,” Augustus said.
“Thank you… I hope you like my interp—” the alien cut off, unable to articulate the human words correctly. But at least he was learning.
“Interpretation is the word you’re looking for,” Augustus offered, receiving a nod from the alien. “You’ve come a long way. Just like me. Without Hagellan and the council ruling you, I trust you’ll become a valued member of new society.”
The alien, whose name Augustus still hadn’t bothered to learn how to pronounce, just blinked its beady eyes, indicating it had understood.
Although it didn’t have the vocabulary, or even the thought pattern to communicate fully, it had learned to think for itself. This proved to Augustus that with the remaining croatoans under his influence, the taking of Unity would be just a matter of time.
Revenge, like all worthy artistic endeavors, was something to savor, plan, and execute with a willingness to destroy all that had come before.
The world was clay to mold in his vision.
He pictured Aimee’s flayed, limp body, skewered atop a wooden pike.
Keeping that image in mind, he placed the mask over his face and adjusted the leather strap behind his head. The heat from the worked steel threatened to burn his skin, but the scar tissue, long dead to feeling, kept the pain at bay. A shuddering breath escaped his lips and traveled through the mouth grille.
Every cell in his body tingled as he dropped his hands and looked through the eyes of the mask. It was as if he were seeing through a different veil. He pictured the future—the fall of Unity, the rise of his new empire.
A laugh gurgled from his throat and he stepped out of the small workshop into a larger hangar. This building was the farm facilities’ shuttle bay. Plastic tarps flapped with the blow of the wind; the large hangar doors were open and overlooked miles of neglected farmland.
As he stepped toward the shuttle being repaired, he didn’t feel the cool air creep against his calves like days of old. No need for robes anymore. He dressed in one of the human soldier’s fatigues. It suited his new role: that of conqueror, general… emperor.
“How go the repairs?” he asked.
A middle-aged woman with grease smeared across her face ducked out from beneath a raised panel. She motioned with a spanner. “I’m nearly done, sir. The engine is in good condition and the engineers have reprogrammed the OS. The shuttle has full autonomy now and is interlinked with the other farms. We’ll be testing the full range of comms within the hour.”
“Good. Let me know as soon as the communication network to the other shuttles is fully established. I’d like to address our new pilots.”
The woman nodded her head with respect and dived back under the panel and into the interior of the croatoan shuttle. A pair of alien engineers shuffled around inside toward the cockpit. They held glowing screens in their stubby fingers, chattering away in their staccato language.
Augustus was pleased with what he heard; they were excited about uniting the other croatoans from the desperate farms.
Over the last few days, he had worked hard on galvanizing the displaced aliens. Their numbers had swelled to over three thousand and counting. The message traveled far that Augustus had created a new home for the aliens, a new purpose.
He got the idea from Aimee and her work with Unity.
Seeing how easily humans and croatoans could work together if given a singular focus made him realize it didn’t need to be an all-or-nothing proposition; neither species needed to be exclusive.
The one thing he had learned about both species is that they needed a haven and a leader. Although humans were by far more autonomous and treacherous, he had many centuries of experience to draw upon to keep them in line.
With that thought, he turned away from the shuttle and stepped out of the hangar into the cold gray afternoon light. He turned to his right and walked past the gaggle of buildings until he came to the square.
&nbs
p; The sight of Zoe, also dressed in fatigues, standing atop a makeshift stage, brought a smile to his face. She bellowed out a training drill to the hundreds of croatoan and human soldiers all standing in grid formation.
Zoe must have realized he was watching; she ordered the troops to stand to attention and turned her back to them to approach Augustus. She saluted him and clicked her heels together.
“I’ve an update on the other farms, sir.”
“Go ahead,” Augustus said.
“We’ve got five of them on side; their troops and shuttles are en route as I speak. They’ll be here before nightfall.”
“Numbers?”
“Eight shuttles, twenty working harvesters, fifteen hover-bikes, two and a half thousand troops, and enough weaponry to create an infantry battalion of five hundred.”
“I’m impressed,” Augustus said, resting his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with an expression of reverie and pride. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long and dipped her chin. It was probably the fearsome sight of his new mask, but he liked to think it was something else—he’d seen the way she had looked at him during the previous few days.
Power generated its own kind of attraction, he had learned. Regardless of his face, his stature and character had a gravity that few could match. He considered taking her as his bedmate.
She had a fire in her belly that he knew he would find between her thighs. He had known many women like her before. The stronger they were, the more passionate… and also the more easily influenced and manipulated.
The strong always wanted more power.
And as a god, he always had more to give, to deal…
“Thank you,” Zoe eventually croaked. “I appreciate this opportunity you’ve given to me… to all of us. We were so confused before, but now we have purpose. I just want to make sure you know that we’re all thankful, grateful for your leadership.”
Augustus squeezed her shoulder as he closed his eyes, letting her obvious flattery wash over him as though they were genuine compliments.
Even lies feel good if you let them.
