The Parabiont Invasion Book 3

by Y. J. Gendron

  “I wish I could see his face.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cornell asked.

  “When he reads the name I scribbled down.”

  Cornell’s eyes narrowed, but his smile grew even wider. “What? You didn’t!”

  “Violet Ivy Piper Guest. At your service!”

  The Private stared back at her, dumbstruck. The questioning in his eyes changed to disbelief then to utter delight. He roared in laughter, the outburst making Foxy howl in surprise. Cornell’s laugh echoed for half a minute before dropping to a more measured level.

  “You are something else, Miss McKenzie,” he managed to say, wiping away tears.

  Beatrice shrugged, enjoying the young man’s good spirits. “Call me Beatrice.”

  He nodded. “Beatrice, it is.”

  The Humvee descended a last quarter mile before the large mass of the plant came into view, clearing aside the encroaching trees with its high walls and foreboding structures of bricks and steel. The building was huge, shockingly so, in the relative quaintness of the setting. Though the plant was old, it had been kept in working order, with numerous repairs noticeable on the exterior shell. As they came closer, the entire compound threw long shadows over the landscape, creating a zone without sunlight at its base. Squinting to make out details, Beatrice sorted out the basic layout of the place in her mind. There was one large building, with a few stubbier ones distributed in a row near the entrance. These smaller structures were all made of metal instead of bricks, indicating they’d been added recently.

  “We put those sheds in, if you’re wondering,” Cornell said.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, they’re prefab units. We use ‘em to store all kind of stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  Cornell shrugged. “Parts, equipment, supplies, hazardous material; you name it.”

  “I see.”

  “But you know what?” Cornell said in a conspiratorial tone.

  “No,” she answered, with the same hushed voice.

  “The real crazy shit is inside the plant.”

  “Crazy shit?”

  “That’s what I heard, yes Ma’am.”

  Beatrice kept her face straight. “Interesting.”

  Cornell’s eyes widened. “Scary, if you ask me.”

  Somewhat taken aback by his reply, she nodded in a slow, careful, manner, fighting the visions in her mind, the ones too frightening to face.

  “Rumors say we’re building some kind of super-weapon in there.” There was a faraway glint in Cornell Williams’ eyes. “A space weapon.”

  Beatrice furrowed her brow. He saw the doubt in her stare and exhaled softly. “I know what you’re thinking, that this is all just nonsense. But you know what, Beatrice?”

  She shook her head.

  “I think it’s real.”

  4 The Plant

  Beatrice stared at the grand facade of the building. The double-set of doors were faded from yesteryear’s paint, the pale green hue marred with long vertical streaks of rust. Above the main doors, a row of windows cut the monotony of the brickwork, the large square panes of glass reflecting the overcast sky. Utilitarian in design, the building possessed few architectural ornaments, making it appear even more austere than the norm.

  Cornell stepped to the door and held up his ID card to the security card reader. The reader beeped once and a red light changed to green. He pulled the handle. The heavy steel door creaked with a loud metal screech, the old hinges suffering from a long overdue oil lube. “After you.”

  Beatrice nodded. She gripped Foxy’s leash, which was clipped to the dog’s collar, and made her way inside. The vestibule was a large open space stacked with old metal furniture. Like a museum overflowing with art pieces, she noticed scores of items that seemed to have come straight out of the 70’s. There were beige steel desks, with imitation mahogany surfaces, chrome floor lamps yellowed by age and busted office chairs. Cardboard Banker boxes had been piled up in a corner, along with reams of old paper printouts, waiting to be shredded.

  The place smelled of old, wet, paper, with a touch of burnt electrical wiring in the mix. Beyond the clutter, a large 10 feet wide reception desk welcomed visitors. Immediately behind it, on the cotton color wall, an old black and white photograph of the plant could be seen, the frame dulled by a coat of dirt.

  The concrete floor, that used to be painted red, was a sea of gray, leading out to a corridor on one end, and a bathroom on the other.

  Cornell shut the door closed and joined Beatrice at the oversized counter.

  “Nobody’s home?” She asked, looking out to where the corridor vanished into the shadows.

  The bathroom door opened. There was the sound of a toilet gurgling then a short curse. The door closed and the characteristic noise of a plunger working a drain was overheard. Another flush followed. At last, the door opened and a man came out.

  The soldier, tall with a heavyset presence, had deep-brown eyes, a square jaw and despite thinning hair, looked younger than his fifty years. An aura of authority accompanied him as he walked over to the counter, an easy smile on his thin lips.

  “Sir!” Cornell said, snapping to attention.

  Colonel Tobias Graves did a quick salute and said: “At ease, soldier.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Miss McKenzie,” Graves said, pumping her hand with affection. “How are you?”

  “I’m good, Colonel, thank you.”

  “And what have we here?”

  Graves bent down, stretching his long frame so that his hand could reach below his knee. “Foxy! How are you, girl?” He stroke the Sheltie with obvious fondness and she responded in kind, licking the Colonel’s hand.

  “She seems to be in top shape,” Graves said, straightening up.

  “Oh, yes, she is,” Beatrice replied with a grin. “I can hardly keep up with her.”

  “Really? To my eye, you look ready to tackle a bear.”

  She laughed. “Maybe, sir. Depends on what kind of bear, I guess.”

  It was his turn to grin. “I’m pretty sure the woods around here are full of them.”

  “Yeah, most assuredly.”

  He stared at her and she saw the steel snapped back into place. “Let’s hope they stay away.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you bring your gear along?”

  “Yes, but I’m sorry to say, Colonel, that I forgot Foxy’s food.”

  The Colonel gave a short laugh. “That’s not a problem. I’ll get Supply to find you some. You’ll have it tomorrow, at the latest.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.”

  Graves turned to Cornell. “I’m going to give Miss McKenzie a tour of the facility. Bring her gear to the dorm and report back to Staff Sergeant Garcia.”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  Cornell turned to leave.

  “Just one other thing, Private,” Graves said.

  “Sir?”

  The Colonel’s chin pivoted to the bathroom. “Get someone from Maintenance to fix that damn head.”

  The young soldier broke into grin but one look at Graves stolid expression made him wipe the smile from his face. Instead, he nodded, tilted his head to Beatrice and hurried away, closing the door behind him.

  The Colonel watched him leave. “A good man, that Williams.”

  Beatrice acknowledged with a quick smile. “Yes, sir… he’s got a good heart.”

  Graves pressed two fingers against his forehead before answering. “Yes. That’s what we need. People with good hearts.”

  “Everything okay?”

  Beatrice noticed the way he shielded his eyes from the overhanging light bulbs, as if the glow was too bright for him.

  “Ready for the tour?” He asked, his voice sounding much more tired than before.

  He didn’t wait for an answer and strolled away, his great stride propelling him along the corridor at a brisk pace. Beatrice pulled Foxy to her side and hurried after him.

  The corridor w
as rather narrow and quite long, reminded her of the one in high school. She hated it back then, and still did now, even though, she mused, this one was way quieter than the one from her past.

  The more they progressed forward, the more the light changed. In the lobby, large windows had provided welcomed, natural, light; but the corridor had none, relying solely on hanging light bulbs to illuminate the gloom. As the shadows deepened, Beatrice felt a twinge of uneasiness grow in her gut. The bare cement walls smothered all warmth from the yellowish light, changing the corridor into a stuffy, featureless, tunnel. The sound of her steps echoed in her ears, much louder than what she thought possible. She wasn’t claustrophobic, but the corridor made her feel that way. The sensation was overpowering and she felt a tightness to the chest, as if the walls were coming together, intent on turning her into a pancake.

  Graves reached a heavy door that completely blocked the way and pushed it wide open. She saw the opening brighten with light and felt better at once.

  “Are you okay?” Graves asked. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”

  Trying to keep her heartbeat under control, she looked him in the eye and nodded, her face a mirror of the anxiety she felt.

  “Good. You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

  Another nod.

  He drilled his stare into her’s. “It’s important, you know. We’re dealing with all kind of unknowns and I need to know what’s going on… even if it seems trivial.”

  “I understand Colonel,” she said with a tight smile. “You can count on me.”

  He put a hand to her shoulder. “I know I can.”

  They were standing on the doorstep of a large open space. The huge room was a football field in length and width, with various sectioned-out areas arranged in military-like precision. Her eye fell to what lay in the dead center of the vast room: a large chamber, about 25 feet wide, with one door and no windows. This room within a room was clad in walls made of plasterboards, that went straight up to the rafters. She had no idea what took place inside but knew at once it was the heart of the plant, the reason for all the activity. Nearby, other smaller spaces had also been set up, each with individual openings and dressed with heavy curtains in lieu of doors. Legacy offices, with real doors this time, were pushed back against the West wall, where panes of glass let the afternoon sun streak in, the light bathing the interior with a cold-yellow hue. Outside, beyond the free-of-cars parking lot, metal sheds could be seen, along with a host of discarded electrical equipment.

  “Come with me.”

  She followed the Colonel deeper inside the great hall. The ceiling was high, higher than the ones usually found in home renovation warehouses. The lighting came from dozens of hanging lights, each with one oversized bulb. She was surprised by the absence of fluorescent tubes, thought it probably had more to do with the age of the place than anything else. The concrete walls were painted the same faded pale green as the lobby, but here the paint looked better, with not a hint of rust.

  Her stare turned to the chamber.

  There was nothing to see really, just four walls erected with panels that you could buy at any hardware store, but it was the mystery behind those walls that fired her imagination. The plain, unpainted, steel door cut in the room’s facade was a gateway to the puzzle and she longed to go in and see for herself what it was all about.

  “That’s the Amilaki project.”

  Graves voice ricocheted in her mind, wrenching her back to reality.

  “Pardon?”

  “We call it the Cube,” he said. “It’s all Amilaki tech in there.”

  She glanced at the chamber as they passed by. “You mean, they’re building more machines?”

  The Colonel stopped in his tracks and spun around to face her. “I know what you’re thinking. But it’s not the same. Tebayi’s machine was dangerous because of her, and only because of her. It wasn’t the tech’s fault, it was the motivation behind it. This project,” he gestured to the vast hall, “is a collaboration between species, a way for our races to have a fighting chance. You know what we’re up against, what’s heading our way. I believe in Asalak, and in what he’s trying to accomplish… and between you and me, Miss McKenzie, do we really have a choice?”

  She watched the resolve settle on his features. It was obvious he felt it necessary to do all that could be done. The fate of humanity might rest with the actions of a small group of individuals. Though the Amilaki were few, she knew the Snyl were a whole other ballgame. She had glimpsed, in a vision, the way they overtook worlds, the chaos they brought forth, the destruction they caused. They were a horde, a horde of billions, hell-bent in decimating life. It was a threat unlike anything humans ever faced and it was a danger best shared with others who’d suffered the same fate. The Amilaki had lost their home-world, had escaped extinction by the thinnest of margins. It was plain stupid not to work with them. Their knowledge was our’s to glean, to use, and to deploy. The Colonel was right: we didn’t have a choice.

  As she pondered Graves’ words, the door to the Cube opened up. A bright light escaped into the hall, dropping a shaft of brilliance unto the concrete floor. A figure appeared in the doorway. It momentarily turned sideways, looking back into the golden radiance. There was a curt nod then the silhouetted form closed the door, cutting the glow off.

  Beatrice stared at the man.

  It seemed that every time they met, he appeared different; changed by some kind of miracle, or by a curse she didn’t understand.

  She recalled their encounter at the vet clinic. He had been overweight, then, with a full beard, long hair, and a shifting, furtive, stare. Later, his appearance had turned once again and he had morphed into a sick man, at the brink of death, ravaged by a mental assault that he couldn’t fight.

  And now, once again, he appeared different, as if he’d been suddenly struck by middle age.

  He settled a foot away from her, the characteristic ice-green stare muted by a veil of fatigue. “Beatrice McKenzie. It’s great to see you again.”

  My God, he looks so old.

  Her mind flashed to that moment on the lake. To the instant he fished her out of the frozen waters, saving her life.

  She gazed at the deep etches in his face, at the pallor of his skin, at the cluster of wrinkles around his eyes. Asalak, who had been Bennet Wynter before, looked at least twenty years older than he was.

  And although he was smiling down at her, the Amilaki had managed to do the one thing he excelled at.

  He had succeeded in spooking her.

  Again.

  5 Gull Islet

  Corporal Paige Hillcox sensed the two eggs and bacon she’d eaten earlier move about with reckless abandon in her stomach. She hated the sea. Always did. That’s why she was Army and not Navy, even though Dad had wanted her to follow in his steps and become a seaman like him. She gripped the railing of the small boat captained by Melvin Horwood. His 25 feet long vessel, the Gruff Seas, was motoring the channel between the islands of Emgeten and Long, a few nautical miles off Japonski Island’s coast. The seas were rough, as they often were, with five feet swells and plenty of what she referred to as ‘hurl movement’. She vowed, however, to keep the breakfast down, wrestling her innards to stay put. But it wasn’t easy. Her companion on this sortie, Private Kyle De Rozan, fixed her with a compassionate grin. The kid, a wiry bundle of red hair, pale skin and surprisingly deep-green stare, seemed oblivious to the machinations of the sea. He stood, legs apart, easing into each rise and plummet of the craft, a smile hooked to his juvenile face.

  Lucky bastard!

  De Rozan was the unit’s youngest member, just a week older than nineteen. Though Paige was older by a few years, she felt ancient compared to the young man’s obvious ‘greenness’. But he was a good soldier and she liked his can-do attitude. In a sense, they were very much alike, a comforting notion when you trusted each other with your life. As she glanced his way, she thought he still had realms of stuff to learn. Stuff like not havi
ng an idiotic grin on your face when your superior was about to chuck beans into the drink.

  “This is great fun,” he called as a wave slammed into the boat. “Don’t you agree, Corporal?”

  That was another thing he needed to learn: to keep his damn mouth shut.

  Paige turned her head to the outside world. Beyond the shifting steel-gray waters of the bay, small islands could be seen, rocky enclaves of weather-beaten lands that were mostly inhabited. Some, the larger ones, had cottages and fishing cabins, that braved the inclement weather during winter only to open up once summer came around. There were no electricity in the archipelago of islands. You needed to bring all of it with you — if you wanted a semblance of civilized life. She and Kyle had scoured four different islands, always using the Gruff Seas for transport.

  Captain Horwood was a grizzled bear of a man, with an impressive beer gut and a thick beard streaked with white. His hands were large saucer-like affairs, as weathered as his boat. He was a solitary man and liked to keep to the cockpit, preferring to stare out at the undulating sea than engage in conversation.

  Paige thought he was perfect for the job. He never asked any questions, never enquired about what was going on. The only thing he cared for was being paid, and having enough fuel to come back to port.

  The Gruff Seas powered over yet another wave, the horizon dipping with a brusque lurch. Paige closed her eyes and steadied herself against the cabin’s wall. The boat had two decks: one up front, ahead of the crew compartment, and a larger one in the back, where fishing paraphernalia was set up. The cockpit had the standard wheel and controls along with enough living space for two persons. There was a narrow bed bunk, which doubled as a couch, a compact refrigerator (and stove) and rows of ingenious cupboards that allowed for a good amount of storage.

  Horwood had told Paige he had once spent a whole week on the boat, without going to shore.

  The thought had twisted her gut into knots. How could one consider spending a night on this tub, let alone a week? The trek to Gull Islet was just a 40 minutes ride, but she couldn’t wait to reach land.