Fallen Angels (Dystopian Child Prodigy SciFi) (The Unmaker Series Book 2)

by Casey Herzog

  “My name is Professor Ramesses Marcell, specialist in xenological studies. I will be your teacher for the rest of the term, and most likely for the next, so I hope you remain on my good books.” He let a large book fall from his hands onto his desk and placed a hand on it, looking out at his students from over his glasses. “Speaking of books, this subject requires the utmost effort in deep research and absolute respect in critical thinking. You shall not pass without the effort of studying, memorizing and analyzing what you are taught in class.”

  Marcell pointed at the wall behind him with a finger, and it divided seamlessly, a screen shifting outwards from its insides. The lights of the auditorium dimmed, and he continued his introductory speech.

  “You are young, brave and most likely smart, in your majority. However, you are all naïve. Let this be known from today — I do not work based on faith or guesswork. Nevertheless, I can see it in your eyes. The naïveté, the innocence. You live your lives without worrying about our Earth’s killers, at least not further than wondering how well the war is going, or if we’ll ever find a way to get our planet how it was before.” He shook his head. “Do any of you know what they eat? If they sleep? How they fight? What their philosophy is? If they have presidents, prime ministers or monarchs? Do you know if they have sex, or give birth? Maybe they lay eggs?” The professor had already intensified his voice, and it was keeping all students on the edge of their seats, despite his demeaning words. “You have no idea, do you? All that’s ever mattered is having the food to put in your stomach and staying healthy.”

  There was a widespread feeling of imposed shame, although Marcell’s manner of speaking didn’t make it feel imposed. Dante himself felt genuinely at fault for never having the curiosity to learn more about the race that had almost destroyed humanity.

  “Sir, I for one know that the Outsiders very carefully reproduce themselves through artificial means because they had trouble in the past with unwanted mutations caused by acquired DNA, among other things.” The speaker was a girl, and Dante turned to look at her as soon as he heard the familiar voice.

  Professor Ramesses Marcell placed his hands together and bowed his head with a flattered expression.

  “Quite an answer, uhh…”

  “Beth, sir.”

  “Yes, quite an answer, Beth. I won’t ask you how you know all that, considering it’s one of the most well-kept secrets of the aliens, but you’re absolutely right. It’s the reason the invaders were eventually crushed by our seemingly endless forces. Their numbers were large, yes, but once the casualties started piling up, they had no reinforcements to cover the losses. Even if every one of them was worth five of our average soldiers, we could keep up with our strategy of attrition. A strategy of men throwing themselves in the way of lasers and missiles until the alien line was breached.”

  Dante took note on his tablet-screen interestedly, feeling as if he could create the imagery being fed to him in words in his head. He’d always wanted to know how exactly mankind had turned the war around with a better explanation than Callum’s simple: “The Battle of the Atlantic.” The soldier had seemed to avoid the subject, but Dante could understand that too, considering he had skeletons of his own to hide.

  Imagery was fed to them through the screen, with many old, faded photographs appearing behind Marcell as he spoke, a few of them showing the sadness and pain of war through the eyes of its victims.

  “And breached it was. The tactics used by the…I hate this word, but it’ll serve for your sake…‘Outsiders’ were far beyond our time. If possible to compare to any human in the present or past, our military specialists called them Napoleonic, relying heavily on bombardments and artillery. Boy, were the aliens good at turning cities into rubble in an hour or two.” The instant of lost thought passed, and Marcell seemed to return to the present when it was over. “But it wasn’t until the great battle, the one we now call the Battle of the Atlantic where the aliens suffered their one last big defeat. The end of the road, so to speak. It was there where humanity’s epic comeback reached its pinnacle. We won, or at least that’s what we thought.”

  The class then remained silent. The reason it hadn’t been humanity’s victory needed no explanation. Their race itself had been saved, but the planet had come to a screaming end in return.

  A sad smile spread on Marcell’s face, as he seemed to revisit his lost thoughts again, losing himself for a few moments before returning once more:

  “I’d know what it feels like to win something and realize just a moment later your victory is a lie,” he said bitterly, shaking his head slowly, “I was there when it all took place. Children, let me tell you something bluntly. If humanity ever gets the chance again, and it depends on you to make it…Please choose total extinction over this so-called life we continue living.”

  The silence that followed was absolute, although nobody contradicted the words even in their heads. It was a depressing thought, but it was true. Man had traded life in exchange for the decay of everything around him. The planet had been sacrificed, yet the aliens were still out there somewhere.

  If man ever got the chance to change the story, Dante knew that the government officials who had seen the drastic consequences would think twice next time. All or nothing. Winning the war was nowhere near enough. Total annihilation should have been the objective.

  “I would have loved to have seen the faces of those fools who called themselves our leaders, sitting in their leather chairs in a bunker in the capital, at the precise moment — 18:05 hours — when close to one hundred thousand warheads of varying potency were fired up into the sky from hidden locations in a single last-ditch attempt by the aliens to end all remaining human life on the globe. I just can’t fathom how they will have felt, knowing that it was all on them.” A sad smile was on the man’s face as he looked down and bit his lip. “They were the reason the Earth was about to die.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Explanations

  After a long silence, Professor Ramesses Marcell’s expression changed and he soon continued with other subjects, explaining how the school term was going to be laid out. Everybody jotted down the notes on their screens, although the students soon learned he was not the type of teacher to wait for his pupils to finish writing before continuing.

  “I’m gonna have to learn a new language with this guy,” Keith said exasperatedly, “Bloody ‘ell, e’ speaks too fucking fast!”

  Dante finally gave up and rested his hands beside the screen in front of him, simply resigning himself to listening and committing it all to memory. With a quick glance around, he noted he wasn’t the only one who had adopted such a learning method Of course, the others might have been gifted in memory somehow. Who cares? I’ve always been good at this, he thought, but the class soon lost its initial draw, and he grew bored and distracted. After such a promising start, the class had turned into a long, unfortunate list of do’s and don’ts.

  Finally, the professor cleared his throat as if to wake everyone up once more and raised his voice.

  “Now, that is everything that you will need to know for the rest of the year. Let it be known that I shall not repeat myself nor forgive transgressions of these set rules. Keep yourself critical and study hard. Xenology is a subject not to be underestimated. We shall see each other in the next class, young students. Now go on, and don’t forget to read the introduction and first chapter of our book before we meet again!”

  Dante stood immediately, barely giving the professor a chance to finish talking. He was anxious, the thought of the people outside and what he’d done only now kicking in. It definitely had been shock keeping him together, he concluded. He paced around on the spot, attracting some awkward looks. Let them talk, he thought. Not like they won’t once they know what’s actually going on. How many of them will be calling me a murderer before the week is over?

  The students around him were slow to stand and leave their seats, and it made Dante want to push his way through them. T
he sooner he left with the staff members and the least amount of hassle he went through, the better. An interrogation was coming, that was for sure. Expulsion? No, surely not. He had killed in self-defense, and there was definitely at least one camera at the platform recording what had happened. Or so he hoped.

  Finally, the students began to walk down the steps of the auditorium and exit through the door, and Dante allowed himself to become one with the flow. As he was about to step through the exit, he turned to Ramesses and caught the professor eyeing him with interest. It was only brief, but their gazes locked and Marcell gave the smallest of nods. It resembled that of a parent acknowledging the success of his son or giving him a small push forward; not the warm, friendly type of parent like the Sphinx, or the ruthless, competitive parent like Silas Webster, but a colder, more distant one. The gesture gave Dante added strength, and he lifted his head up as he stepped out of the class and saw the two adults waiting for him nearby.

  “Good luck, mate,” Keith said from across the corridor, and Dante gave a thumbs-up sign.

  “Won’t need it, but thanks!”

  Other students watched as he was escorted away, and only then did he properly study the two staff members. The female was taller, her body clearly athletic and in-shape despite the concealing effect of her loose robes, and her dark skin coupled with exotic features made her highly attractive, despite her unforgiving expression. The man, meanwhile, was quite the opposite. Where his partner looked stressed out and took the job extremely seriously, the male half of the pair studied Dante back as if they were challenging each other with their looks. He was youngish, no older than Callum, white-skinned and bearded with straight brown hair. His thin nose and friendly green eyes gave the impression that he was there to contrast his fellow staff member’s unrestrained annoyance.

  “Are you like the police force of the University?” Dante asked half-sarcastically, but both of his escorts remained silent. He was guided back to the entrance hall and from there to the train station. We’re going back to the scene of the attack, Dante knew, and he became nervous at the thought of seeing the carnage he’d left behind so soon.

  Upon entering the train, the Healer instinctively looked down at the section of floor in front of the door as if expecting to see his blood, but it was a silly response of his mind to the situation, considering he wasn’t even in the same cabin, and it had probably been cleaned by now anyway.

  True enough, they were certainly heading straight back to what Dante had escaped from, and he thought about the cruel inevitability of it all. I walked away from what I did, but there’s no walking away from the consequences. Even if I was just defending myself.

  “He struck first, you know?” he asked, feeling dumb as the two adults didn’t even waste their time turning to look at him. Even the friendly-looking man had lost interest in their staring contest. “I would be dead if not for my abilities.” My abilities. Woah, what the hell? Only now did he remember it all with clarity. Dante’s eyes widened, and he felt like he’d been slapped. It had all come so naturally to him this time. It scared him to think of how easily he’d summoned the power to kill his enemy with just an outburst of rage. Rage released through energy from the palm of his hand. The common factor was becoming clear. To use his curse, he needed to be angry. He hadn’t been angry when the fight broke out, he’d been scared. Only when he’d remembered who his attacker was and what he’d done did the fury rise forth.

  “Look, he’s right there,” a voice said from nearby, and Dante turned to see a group of onlookers watching him. “He’s the one that was almost murdered in the First Term mess hall. The same kid who’s in that video with Chancellor Albridge.” The young men and women did nothing to hide their curiosity, and Dante decided to just lower his head in shame. Just imagine what they’ll be saying when they find out I’ve killed somebody. Awkward times ahead.

  The staff members shifted as they arrived at their desired station, and a spinning amber light shone from the train’s ceiling. Dante hadn’t seen it before, but he guessed it meant for passengers to stay on the train. His escorts ignored it and led him off onto the cold darkness of the platform.

  “Here we are,” the woman said, nodding at where the fight had taken place.

  The platform had been empty when he’d been assaulted, but now there were more people than he could even count. It looked like the crime scenes in old magazines and newspapers Callum had shown Dante and the rest of the kids. Uniformed security staff walked around with gloves and lamps attached to their chests and inspected the scene, while others knelt almost inside the remains of Dante’s attacker, recreating what had happened.

  “If you need to know something, I can just tell you. Don’t you have cameras, anyway?” Dante asked, and the male staff member finally looked at him again.

  “We like to work both traditionally and with modern means. There are some in our forces who could even reveal what happened down to the last molecule of blood spattering against the walls as you blew the boy apart, but we make sure to use our manpower before that. The overuse of our gifts can make one careless, don’t you think?” His bluntness put Dante on edge, and the Healer scowled.

  “I know what you’re trying to say, and gifts are the reason I’m here and alive, listening to your not so veiled remarks. If you don’t mind, could we get to whatever you brought me here to do?”

  The man’s eyes widened and he grinned.

  “What a little character we have here. Of course, you’ll get to that soon. Don’t you worry.”

  A group of seemingly high-ranking officers stood nearby and talked in hushed whispers, some of them clearly directing their looks and words toward Dante, who shot a challenging gaze at each of them in turn. Even though the anxiety was starting to weigh him down, the attack had made him somewhat stronger, braver and certainly more willing to do something stupid. At least for now, until I piss away this courage and turn back into the insecure ten-year-old I am, he thought with amusement. One of the officers stepped away from the rest, striding towards Dante and his escorts, and the Healer knew the game had begun. The man was grey-haired and wore a closely-cropped beard and mustache, his trench jacket and military cargo pants making him look almost like a character straight out of a spy story.

  “Zara, Fox, you’re here. Good to see you. Let’s find a place to speak with the child,” he said, speaking as if Dante wasn’t even there. “I want to know everything.”

  “Sir, I think there’s an adequate office just above us in this very building,” Zara said, her severe expression not shifting an inch.

  “Let’s go and get this sorted out. It won’t be long before we have to worry about the wrong ideas getting loose out there. I don’t want this incident to be misused by the discontents. Get ready to do your thing.”

  Dante remained in thought as they climbed the steps back up to the cultural building. He could only guess that their thing had something to do with interrogation techniques. A very uncomfortable hour or two await, he thought.

  The aforementioned office was elegant, to say the least, the room belonging to an important professor who had vacated it to allow the interrogation to take place. Sculptures looked down from their plinths, measuring the new arrivals and judging them in silence. There were paintings on the walls of battle scenes from the war, the artist taking special time not only on the minute details of the soldiers themselves, but on those small moments within the fight that spoke of individual heroics: brave squads caught in last stands, a human fighter giving his alien enemy a killing blow just as he was killed in turn, a young woman firing a machine gun at approaching enemies while her child hugged her leg in terror. Finally, Dante saw one that caught his eye even more than the rest.

  “What is this one about?” he asked, before sitting at the elegant mahogany table in the middle of the room. Depicted on its surface was a battlefield that put every other to shame. Every single inch of the painting showed conflict in its purest, bloodiest form. Regular Coalition soldi
ers clashed with Outsider troops, while Special Forces descended into the formation and enemy forces fired at the aliens from their parachutes. Aircraft battles took place everywhere, the burning wreckage of fallen fighters lighting up the battlefield in several areas. The sky itself was a purple color, the moon and stars still visible. This one was before the end, Dante knew.

  “The Battle of the Atlantic. You’ll get to learn about that soon with the awesome Ramesses Marcell,” Fox said with a grin. “Now, time to start ignoring those lovely pieces of art and start paying attention to us, boy.”

  “What brought you to the station of this building, Dante?” Zara asked with a quiet voice and a look of distrust.

  The Healer wanted to respond sarcastically, but he knew his future depended on him having a successful interrogation.

  “I had just arrived from a funeral in the nearby hills — the funeral of my friend who died of the wounds caused by the very student I killed here, today. I needed to get to the class you saw me enter — it was awkwardly scheduled to take place right after the burial. Off I went, disrespecting the ceremony by leaving early, but having to arrive to class on time. Unfortunately, someone was expecting me on the platform. My attacker was there before I was, apparently waiting for the train. I didn’t properly see his face at first, but he approached me and asked me a simple question: ‘Are you Dante Castello?’ It all went to hell from there.”