The Genesis Sequence Books 6-10

by Mackenzie Morris

  "No one knows." Leah patted Vance's shoulder. "I thought I had seen a blue-skinned man in the elevator one day in handcuffs, but I couldn't be sure. If it was a blue man, it would have to be a Biromian. There's still hope, Vance. You had better hurry up and leave before anyone finds you down here, though. They usually check in on us every couple of hours. Please go. I don't want you to get in trouble."

  Vance stood and wiped the dust from his pants. "I will do what I can to find Slayven. Take care of Kalimis, Leah. I hate seeing him brought down this low."

  "I've been smuggling in morphine and Nebula Dust from a few of the Azimandian Underground agents."

  "Good. Keep it up. I will be back when I have something to tell both of you. Stay strong."

  "We will do our best."

  With one last glance at Kalimis, Vance stepped through the opening and into the well. He looked around for Visht, but he was nowhere to be found. The false door closed on its own, presumably Leah's doing. Sighing, Vance started blindly towards the rope, feeling along the rough slime-coated bricks as he inched along in complete darkness. His fingers eventually touched rough rope, so he reached up to begin the long climb to the surface, but a spotlight blinded him from above and ten familiar identical faces looked down from the top of the well at him.

  "Well, well, well. How are you doing down there, Prince Aveni?"

  Vance let go of the rope. He looked at the faces. They were all him. Clones. They each had red masks pushed up onto their heads and assault rifles aimed down at him. "Uh . . . hey, mates. Looking for a party? Sorry, but I'm all out of Nebula Dust."

  "This is no joke. You are coming with us before your father catches on to the fact that you've gone missing. You actually made our job a whole hell of a lot easier by following that little warbringer out into the streets in the middle of the night."

  "What do you want with me?" Vance asked.

  "You're the original. We are just copies. But we don't want to be the copies anymore. We want to be Prince Aveni."

  "You can't all be me."

  "We will take turns." Another clone chuckled, readying his gun. "We actually have the perfect plan, but we will have to get rid of you first then dispose of the body. We're genetically identical, after all. No one will be able to tell the difference after we remove the numbers from the bottoms of our feet. You never should have betrayed the empire, Aveni."

  Vance backed up into the tunnel, but he was met with the cold steel of a pistol in his spine.

  Another clone chuckled behind him. "Oh, Aveni. You can't run now. You're in way over your head. But because we're kind of like family, we will let you choose how you want to die. We can douse you in gasoline and Vitalanum fuel then set you on fire or we can drown you in the acid vats in the waste disposal plant. It's up to you."

  "Let him choose later. Get him tied up and gagged. We can't have him calling for help."

  The one behind him breathed hotly onto his neck. "I have a better idea."

  Vance whimpered when the pistol slammed into the side of his head, sending his vision to red then to white then to black. His legs buckled and he collapsed at the clone's feet on the floor of the well. The last things he heard through the coldness of his mind were the laughter of the clones and Visht's muffled screams.

  Chapter 13

  Rav secured the headset around the back of his head with the sensors secured in his ears so he could hear Masamba on the ground. He ran his fingertips over the controls, the buttons and levers that he knew intimately, despite them being inside the tight cockpit of a lightweight Star Streaker instead of a civilian spaceship. They had put him in the fighter plane instead of a flight simulator because word had gotten around the base about Rav's flight skills, so they decided to put him to the test in front of all the other pilots.

  Masamba's voice came over the radio. "Silicon Star to Quasar Luminous. How are you doing in there?"

  "It's a little snug." Rav felt like he was being buried alive in the confines of the metal walls and thick plastic window at the front. He could barely move his legs around the central control panel. His spiky red hair continuously rubbed against the low ceiling and his elbows were trapped against his sides with only about an inch to move. "But it works, I guess."

  "It is so small because of the containment shell. It is for your protection. Go ahead and turn the engines on, but do not touch the yoke until I give you clearance."

  "Yes, sir. Firing up engines now." Rav flipped the four purple switches on the right side. The fighter plane began shaking as the vibrations spread from the engines directly behind his chair. The smell of sweet metallic Vitalanum fuel filled the cockpit. "All four engines are ready to go."

  "You will want your oxygen mask for this flight."

  Rav opened the overhead panel to fetch the black mask. He secured it over his mouth and nose. "Oxygen mask in place and functioning at full capacity."

  "On this test flight, you are to reach mach 1, breach the atmosphere, then reenter and bring the plane to a safe landing. Your directives are straightforward."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Whenever you are ready." Masamba almost sounded excited. "Quasar Luminous, you are cleared for takeoff."

  Rav grinned when he gripped the yoke with one hand and turned the glowing green dials with the other. Slowly, the plane started rolling down the runway that stretched out in font of him with the main Elysian mountain range in the distance. Red sand blew in front of the plane in the hot light of early evening. The holographic console beeped as he reached the optimum speed. Rav placed both hands on the chrome yoke and gently pulled back, lifting up into the pale grey sky.

  The thrill shot through Rav's veins, waking him up more than an IV of ice water. Once he was far enough over the military base and the empty wheat fields, Rav increased his speed and did a barrel roll, just to show off. It was second nature to him. He felt the engines, the responsiveness of the controls, and the resistance of the wind around the sleek wings as he cut through the sky.

  "Silicon Star to Quasar Luminous. Showing off a bit, are you?" Masamba asked, not sounding impressed. "I did not give you permission to practice evasive maneuvers."

  "Sorry, sir." Rav coughed as the itch from the night before crept back to life in his lungs. Not again. Not now.

  "Are you all right?"

  Rav wiped the sweat from his forehead onto the sleeve of his new white and gold flightsuit. "Yeah. I'm fine. Increasing altitude now."

  "Your vital signs are being relayed back to us down here. Your pulse is racing and your oxygen levels are decreasing. If you are sick, you need to abort this mission and come back to the base."

  "No, it's nothing. I-"

  Rav was thrown against the side console when something slammed into the right side of the aircraft, denting the metal hull and sending it spinning. The screens flashed and four sets of alarms blared urgently. A computerized female voice came from the speaker. "Missile incoming. Twenty seconds until impact."

  "Quasar Luminous, we are showing Azimandian fighters on radar in your airspace. They came out of nowhere."

  Rav throttled the plane and dropped lower, trying to avoid the missile. "I have a bigger problem."

  The computer voice spoke to him again. "Missile incoming. Eight seconds until impact."

  "I have eight seconds until a missile hits."

  "Activate force field. The yellow button."

  Rav punched the smooth yellow button, sending the clear green-tinted force field around the plane just as the system alarms reached their highest volume. He gripped the yoke and steadied the plane in preparation for impact. The plane shook as fire and shards of metal flew past the window.

  "Quasar Luminous, your force field disintegrated the missile, but it is now offline." Masamba spoke to him over the sounds of sirens on the ground. "We are scrambling our primary fighters to intercept the Azimandian forces and our air defense system has been activated. Your mission is over. Come back down."

  Rav dove lower, but then he had an i
dea. They wanted to see what he could do? Then he would give them a show. He turned the dial on the console until he brought up his own radar. He cycled through he bottom screen until a weapons interface hologram flickered to life at his fingertips. If Azimandia wanted to tango, he would play the music.

  "Silicon Star to Quasar Luminous, we received a signal from your fighter that your laser cannons and pulse missiles have been brought online. I am warning you to not engage the enemy under any circumstances."

  Rav was not about to give up. "Sorry, sir, but I need to complete this mission and take down the enemy force."

  "There are eight of them. You are outnumbered."

  "Only until I take them all out."

  Masamba shouted at him. "No! You are not cleared to engage."

  Rav ignored him. There was a radar blip approaching his six, so he pulled up and flipped on the stabilizer, allowing him to fly straight vertical without the threat of stalling. Climbing to forty thousand feet, right up against the lower levels of the Elysian atmosphere, Rav yanked the yoke back as far as it could go then cut the engines off, forcing the plane to loop around and plunge down behind the eight Azimandian fighters. Once he was lined up, he flipped the engines back on mid-fall. Stabilized, Rav pressed the icon of the laser cannons on the hologram. Green crosshairs flashed onto the windows on a digital heads-up display. It was just like the training video game he had played for so many weeks of his life.

  Rav's arms tingled with anticipation. "Oh, yeah. Nice. Time to light up the sky."

  As soon as the crosshairs turned red from locking onto the black boxy enemy plane, he pressed the button on the hologram. High-pitched whistling sounded throughout the cockpit when the red and orange lasers shot out from the dual under-wing cannons. In a cloud of debris and black smoke, the Azimandian fighter went into a spiraling nose dive towards the ground.

  "Yes!" Rav pumped his fist in the air, but his excitement was cut off when an authoritative voice barked at him from over the radio.

  "Quasar Luminous, this is General of Flight Cunningham."

  Oh, hell. The head of the Flight Force? Rav's celebration instantly died. He brought his fighter up higher and out of range from the remaining seven enemy aircraft. "Hello, sir. This is Quasar Luminous."

  "I am overriding the previous order from your commanding officer. You have full clearance to engage and eliminate the enemy."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  "I am handing the radio back to Masamba. This is now a secured signal, so speak freely."

  Masamba spoke next. "You are the single worst flight master we have had. But you took down a fighter already. You have earned your first medal on your very first flight. Not many can say that. Go get them, Quasar Luminous. You are on your own up there. We are not sending the other fighters. Show us what you can do. Unleash hell."

  Coughing more, Rav sent the plane back down through the thin clouds until he was closing in on the closest enemy fighter. Just when he lined up the crosshairs, his radar beeped, showing a bomber quickly approaching from behind. Rav unleashed a blast of laser fire at the first plane. He landed a few hits, but then he stopped.

  He couldn't breathe.

  Choking and gasping for air, Rav ripped the oxygen mask from his face. Thinking quickly, he dove towards the ground, searching for higher oxygen levels and an empty field for a softer landing if it came to it. His vision blurred and his heart raced as he coughed violently. Something was obviously wrong, very wrong.

  "Quasar Luminous, your oxygen mask appears to be malfunctioning. Come in, Quasar Luminous. Rav!"

  Rav clutched his throat. The burning ripped at him and his lungs screamed for air. He punched his chest, but it didn't help.

  "Rav, land immediately." Masamba ordered sternly. "You are having some sort of medical emergency."

  Rav yelped when he vomited into the cockpit. It seemed to do the trick. He drew a deep breath then replaced his oxygen mask. "I'm okay, I'm fine. Heading back up to engage the enemy." Something tickled his legs and moved up to his thighs. "Wait. No! No, help me!"

  The cockpit was black with a sea of crawling robotic Olonictic hive warriors. He had vomited bugs.

  "Oh, space! I need help. Repeat. I need help." Rav kicked at the biting insects, their pincers plunging into his flesh. Blood splattered onto the window. He struggled to keep the plane steady, but the bugs crawled over the consoles in droves. They ripped apart the buttons and chewed on the wires. "They're eating my controls. I can't . . . nothing's responding."

  "Rav, what are you talking about?" Masamba asked. "Is something in the cockpit with you?"

  "Hive warriors. Olonictic hive warriors. I'm losing altitude."

  "Pull up, Rav! You are at five thousand feet. Four thousand. Slow your speed and pull up."

  Rav frantically pushed all the buttons and flipped the switches, but everything was frozen. "I can't. I can't eject, either!"

  "Deploying an emergency crash team to your projected landing location with a cryomedical trauma transport. Initializing anti-gravity field to reduce impact. Rav, if you can hear me, know you're going to be treated by the top medical experts we have. Do not panic. You are in good hands."

  Rav closed his eyes and held onto the yoke, bracing for impact. He was flying at nearly seven hundred miles per hour, straight into the ground while a hoard of alien insects tried to devour him. All he could see through the window on the nose of the Star Streaker was rushing wind filled with red sand, grey sky, and the quickly-approaching wheat field. Through his pain and panic, he reached out to anything that could help him. "God, if you're out there, please let Nemo know I love him."

  Chapter 14

  Viktor picked Nemo up to set him on the white marble-topped dining room table to fix the boy's dark green tie for his school uniform. "Are you excited for your first day of school?"

  Nemo swung his feet off the edge of the table, making the heels of his new polished loafers bang against the legs of the table, much to Viktor's annoyance. The boy pouted. "I don't wanna go."

  "You'll love it."

  "Nope." Nemo fidgeted in his black wool suit jacket and pants with the dark green shirt underneath. His messy blond hair had been tamed with generous amounts of sticky hair gel, his eyebrows were groomed, and he had even undergone a pedicure and manicure . . . the last one filled with massive amounts of giggling.

  Viktor finished with the tie then secured the school's golden crest pin to it. "Perfection. You clean up nicely."

  "Can I have a doughnut?" Nemo asked, rubbing his stomach.

  "No. You already had egg whites, soy bacon, and organic orange juice. Doughnuts are not a healthy breakfast for a growing boy."

  "But I like donuts. The powdery kind."

  "And get powdered sugar all over your uniform?" Viktor scoffed in disgust. "Absolutely not. Now, let's get moving. Olaf has your bags in the car."

  Nemo sniffled as tears swelled in his mint green eyes. "Don't make me go. My clothes are itchy and smell funny. Please don't make me go!"

  "That's cologne you smell. We are not having this conversation. It's not up for discussion." Viktor's communicator vibrated in the pocket of his orange tuxedo. "Go to the car while I take this call, Nemo. And I told Olaf not to give you secret candies all the time. Now go."

  "Okay."

  Once Nemo was out of the massive cherry wood front doors, Viktor answered the call as he watched his servant make him a cappuccino. "This is Viktor Cyrino of Cyrino Darkshot Properties. If this is a business call or an inquiry about a property, please call my office phone in twenty-five minutes."

  The deep voice came over the speaker. "This is not a client. I am Commander of Flight Masamba Adebayo of the Elysian Flight Force."

  "Oh, Masamba. Nice to hear an update from you. Go ahead."

  "This is not a pleasant update. Are you in a place where Rav's son cannot hear this conversation?" Masamba asked.

  "Yes, I am. Why? What is it?"

  "Flight Master Rav Tillman was in an accide
nt during a routine training exercise that turned into combat when Azimandian fighter planes invaded our airspace. Unknown events occurred inside the cockpit which caused a malfunction of many of the controls in Rav's fighter plane. The exact details of the incident are currently under investigation."

  "What of Rav?" Viktor asked, taking the vanilla cappuccino from his servant. "Tell me he's alive."

  "Rav's Star Streaker collided with the ground in an empty Elysian wheat field going over eight hundred miles per hour. The aircraft was decimated, with no recoverable pieces larger than six inches. Even with the anti-gravity field activated to slow the fall, the collision was devastating. However, one part of the aircraft was a success. The interior Vitalanum-imbued titanium containment shell where the pilot was sitting remained in one piece. It was severely dented and cracked, but it protected Rav's body from being burned and . . . for lack of a better word . . . liquefied upon collision."

  Liquefied? Viktor set his cappuccino down. "Oh my God."

  "As of eight hours ago, Rav had been extracted from the containment shell and-"

  "His condition. What is his condition? I don't care about the details of the plane. Just tell me about Rav."

  "Rav is in the cryomedical wing of the Central Elysian Medical Center."

  "Cryomedical wing?" Viktor asked. "You froze him?"

  "He is in a cryostasis until the medical team can restart his heart and repair his injuries. His brain functions are being controlled through the system. There were some interesting findings upon conduction a brain scan. Rav Tillman is-."

  His diamond-encrusted pocket watch beeped quietly. "I really don't have the time for this. I just need to know if I have to tell a six-year-old boy that his daddy is never coming home."

  "As of this moment, I am calculating Rav's chances of a full recovery at 18.36 percent. However, that calculation is without proper information or factoring in the cryomedical treatments."

  "Are you saying that my cousin is currently an ice cube in some experimental medical laboratory?" Viktor asked.

  "Affirmative. However, I would not tell his son that. It may prove to be upsetting news."