Invasion Earth

by David Tienter

  “That was great,” shouted Mary. “That will give us a couple of extra minutes.”

  The sword had bounced a little on landing, but tore directly at the nearest supporting beam and began its journey back to Mary.

  Trist, looking through the semi-opaque floor, could see from the dust and debris that the sword was faster on its way back up. This defense would not last long. Two more hits like that last one would probably break his arms. He stood looking at the surface he was standing on.

  “What’s the floor made of?” he asked.

  She pointed to a metal barrel half filled with a liquid. “Silicon powder is added to that,” said Mary.

  Trist picked up another board, preparing to fight the little robot again.

  This time the sword did not fly straight. It altered its course in midair, popping up an additional six inches. Trist only managed to hit a glancing blow. It had been flying directly at Mary’s head, but Trist’s swing caused it to fly over Mary’s head. Trist ran behind her to swing at it again. The sword had landed and was turning to attack, when he swung his board like a golf club, again knocking the seemingly unstoppable robot over the edge of the building.

  “How do they make the flooring?” he asked.

  “Silicon powder is dumped into that barrel holding the reactive liquid.”

  “Take long to set?”

  “Less than a minute.”

  “Open up a couple of bags of the silicon and get ready,” said Trist. “Stand right behind the barrel.”

  He picked up a heavy square piece of iron from the scrap pile and waited the long minute until the robotic weapon was again attacking. This time, he adopted a bunting stance and as it cleared the barrel, he tapped it backward and down. The speed and force of the sword knocked Trist several yards back. He heard it splash and ran back to the barrel, yelling at Mary to dump the silicon in it.

  Through the dust and reactive liquid thrown skyward from the barrel, he saw the sword rise again, and smashed it down hard. The force of the blow knocked the iron square from Trist’s hands. It flew several feet into the air and one sharp corner landed on the end of his foot, severing his middle toe at its first joint.

  He again lifted the iron and stood watch over the barrel, fighting the pain from his foot.

  “More silicon,” he shouted. Glancing back, he saw Mary pick up the end piece of his toe and eat it.

  “Damn, Mary, what are you doing?”

  ”What do you mean. I’m a female.”

  “Don’t speak stupid to me. You just ate my toe.”

  “I just told you, I’m a female.” She dumped more silicon in the mix.

  For a third time, the mobile sword came flying out of the barrel and Trist smashed it back down. A wave of heat rose hard and fast from the barrel and both he and Mary were driven backward.

  The churning of the barrel stopped and he became aware that the noise of the whirling blades had stopped. They waited, terrified to think what the next attack would be.

  After several minutes, they looked into the barrel and could see the mobile sword held in the now hardened flooring. They could still hear a clicking sound as the robot attempted to start its blades again.

  “You did it, Trist.” Mary looked at him in wonder. “You stopped a mobile sword.”

  “Sure hope there aren’t any more of those around.”

  “There aren’t,” said Mary. “There was only one. Nobody ever thought it could be stopped and one would always be sufficient. The last time I heard of it being used was in Scientan several years ago. It killed all fifteen thousand of the rioters in less than ten minutes. It was thought to be undefeatable. Praise be to all gods that you were here. I thought you were only an Immune. Now I understand that you’re also the greatest of warriors.”

  Trist watched as Mary pulled the hot piece of iron off the barrel and held it against the stump of his toe. Cauterized, the toe stopped bleeding. She dropped the hot square of iron over the pool of Trist’s blood.

  She explained to him. “We must conceal your presence when possible. Your blood scent would have carried for blocks. This will help cover it, but we need to move now before others arrive.”

  She went on talking. Trist was trying hard to listen, but he was barely conscious after the cauterizing of his toe.

  “Thank goodness I transported you on the night before Zanper’s rest day, or there would have been workers here to contend with. I know you could have easily defeated the workers if they’d been here, but it’s better that you conserve your strength, My Hero.”

  “Tell me the truth now, did you bring me here to kill and eat me?”

  “Of course not, My Hero.”

  While Trist was standing quietly, feeling the pain in his toe and totally exhausted by the puzzling morning and the battle with the mobile sword, Mary approached him and lifted him into her arms. He was being held tightly before he could respond. He tried to push her arms away, but it was like trying to move bands of cold rolled steel. Her raw strength astounded him. Still, he squirmed trying to regain his feet.

  “Please lie still now, My Hero. I have been betrayed by someone close to me and I may have been followed. We must leave here without being discovered. If you walk, they will follow your scent. But my scent is faint and will quickly disperse. If you don’t move, any others who may see us will believe you to be a package I am carrying and ignore us.”

  She cupped his head with her hand to protect it, held him gently under one arm, and ran for the elevator. It wasn’t until she had placed him gently into a seat on the bus that his head began to swirl with the wonder of it all.

  Trist could see her looking down at him with soft grateful eyes. Perhaps, he thought, this could lead to something nice.

  “Lie still, My Hero, so no one can tell what you are if we run into other Tonkians.”

  “I’m not a great warrior, Mary. Forget that. It’s just that I worked with epoxy while I was still in college, and I was hoping it would work the same here on Tonk. Solid glass is one of the toughest materials I know. The wonder of it all is that it actually worked.”

  She drove slowly back to the Bu8 term and parked. She again lifted him off the bus seat, held him under her arm, and ran through the buildings bordering the streets.

  This must be one of those episodes of adrenalin that gives people superhuman strength, he thought. There’s no way she could be carrying me without adrenalin souping up her strength. She’s easily the fastest runner I’ve ever seen.

  Mary ran through alleys and down a long street where she entered a building and climbed the stairs to her apartment. She was not out of breath after the extreme exertion. This girl’s physique was incredible.

  In the apartment, she set him gently on a large chair. “Are you feeling alright now, My Hero?” she asked, in a tender, almost caressing tone.

  “Yes, I’m okay. My toe still hurts, my back and arms ache, but physically I’m okay. It’s my situation here that worries me.”

  Mary’s apartment was on the third floor. Trist noticed the hallway was very wide with high ceilings. Like old buildings he’d seen in movies from the ‘30s. No wallpaper or paint had been applied to them. The floor was uncarpeted. He thought she must be a little short of money to live in an old building that had not been upgraded. On earth, the tenants would all be complaining.

  Her apartment was quite plain. The room they entered was dominated by what looked to be a king-and-a-half-size bed, eight feet long, sitting in the middle of the room. She had one large, nondescript chair, and a stand near her bed that held a lamp. The walls were a dark gray, with two pictures hung; one of two moons, the other was a tree in the desert. Her room had no windows. There was a door which Trist believed probably led to the kitchen.

  “This place should be safe for us. When I discovered I was being watched, I rented it under an alias, so no one knows about it.”

  Trist pulled his injured foot up on the chair to inspect his wound. In the dim shaded light from the lamp, he could
see the stump of his partially amputated toe, now crusted over with seared skin and dried blood. The adjoining toes were swollen and colored a deep navy blue. He wanted to believe it would be okay, but the thought of losing his foot worried him.

  What in hell was happening to him? He’d spent his life walking the straight non-violent life. He’d always been respectful to others, broke no laws, except maybe an occasional jaywalking. Still, here he was with a grotesquely injured foot after fighting for his life on an alien planet.

  Maybe I should have spent a little more time relaxing, he thought, could have drunk an occasional beer, and smoked a little happy tobacco too. Because all this crap was probably going to happen anyway. I really don’t want to die with so much of life still to be live.

  Mary gave a short, musical laugh. “Let me take care of your foot first. Hopefully then I can allay some of your fears.” Something moved deep inside Trist. He was staring at her. He had not really noticed her appearance before. His head was somewhat unwilling to accept what his eyes told him. He knew she must be very strong and she had brought him to this planet which seemed to hold little for him but a terrible death. But her demeanor was so soft and caring. Was she a monster planning his death, or a woman struggling to keep him alive?

  He guessed her age to be early twenties. She looked fetching with her light-brown hair, cut short. Her dress was light-green, cut slightly above her knees, and cute little knees they were. Her shoes were functional, brown and plain.

  What struck him was the plain beauty of her face. She seemed to be wearing no make-up. Still, her eyes were large and her lips full, giving her a child-like expression that seemed delighted with everything she saw. There was an active curiosity and a twinkle of gaiety in her glance. He could see the full ripeness of her body as she walked without her knowing that he was watching. It enhanced the loveliness of her motions. She walked quickly but quietly, with a feline balance and rhythm that was becoming to him.

  Trist was aware he’d become aroused watching her move about in the tiny apartment. You fool, he thought, she’s probably going to shred you, not bed you.

  “Wait here, my Warrior Hero, while I get bandages for your wound.”

  She returned with a bottle of clear liquid (no label) and a large piece of canvas, and poured two to three teaspoons on his wound. It felt like acid to Trist, but Mary’s strong arms held him motionless until the burning stopped.

  “I knew you would not be one to cry out in pain,” she said. She ripped the stout piece of canvas into smaller, more manageable sizes, and fitted one piece on his uninjured foot and sewed it up to be not quite form-fitting, but at least serviceable as a shoe. The remainder she sewed to fit loosely on his injured foot.

  “Now we will have a little protection for those soft feet of yours. Might have to move fast when we leave. Oh Trist, you make me feel so maternal.”

  She left him then and returned several minutes later with a small metal tray piled high with what appeared to be refried beans mixed with rice.

  His stomach rebelled at the smell of the fried portions placed before him. He had been a life-long picky eater and now his stomach contracted hard twice, trying to reject the food, but, famished and exhausted, he swallowed the first small bite. Whatever the food was, it quickly settled his stomach. He chose not to ask what the food was, absolutely sure that he would not like it if he knew what it was. He ate quietly until the plate was clean. He drank the glass full of what looked to be iced tea, sat back, and relaxed for a minute. The call of the bed was insistent and he quickly succumbed. His fear of not being able to sleep was proven wrong almost immediately.

  The room was dark during the night when he woke up. The lamp, on a low setting, gave enough light for him to see Mary sleeping on the far side of the bed. She looked so cute and helpless sleeping that he reached out with one hand and felt her hair. Easing himself closer, he kissed her gently on the cheek. It appeared to be a soft appealing cheek but was surprisingly hard to his lips. Puzzled, he pulled slightly back.

  She turned to him with her soft brown eyes. “Not yet, My Hero. I feel it too, but time is not ready for us. Please be patient.”

  He rolled over and went back to a dreamless slumber.

  TWO WEEKS PRIOR

  A gray sky, heavy with dark threatening clouds, held no good portents as Izixebi slipped from her bed and headed to her bathroom. A long shower helped clear her head and prepare her for the day. A breakthrough must happen soon or she would be totally discredited. She had enough detractors as it was. Fifteen minutes later, she had breakfast, eating her usual meal of ground lomuse and minced insects. She much preferred the insects as they browned up to a nice golden color and had a satisfying crunch when she ate them.

  Her showers were usually rapid because she had no hair to fuss with. Dressing consisted of pulling on her light green dress and slip-on shoes.

  Her long, quick strides got her to work before the clouds emptied their water on Tonk. She had moved to her current apartment because it was within walking distance. She began to feel the excitement as she entered the research facility. The technicians were crowding the halls and clapping their hand together in congratulation. They did not greet her, a superior. She slipped through the crowd and walked quietly to her office.

  Her desk and chair were crammed tightly into one corner. She had devoted the rest of her office to tables of scattered electronic plates, semi-conductors, and switches. She had started to work on re-soldering the start sequences of her exigator machine when the top assistant came in. Bubbling over with good news, her eyes wet with joy, she ran to Izixebi and hugged her.

  “Oh Izixebi, it’s happened. You were right all along. I always had faith in you.”

  “Just tell me what happened,” said Izixebi.

  “They got the exigator to work last night. It actually works. Hurry, there’s a meeting of the department heads in two minutes.”

  “Please tell them I’ll be right there,” she said, watching the assistant leave.

  Always believed in her, sure, she thought sarcastically. Izixebi had known for over a year that the assistant assigned to her had been a spy for King Ceidis. She had been forced to hide her real work and double code all her notes. A lot of wasted time.

  Izixebi was the last to sit in the large meeting room. Scasett their leader was speaking. His look of irritation at Izixebi’s late arrival clearly showed his dislike for her, the senior female on the project. She was certain that his disdain for her was due to his belief that there should never be any senior females. Women were meant for breeding, not scientific investigations.

  Still, it had been Izixebi who had conceived the idea. She was the one who had risked addressing the King and his royal council proposing the exigator project. She had been terrified at her first sight of his royal majesty with his Andurian tusks extending five inches out of the corners of his mouth. She was sure her proposition had been garbled and illogical due to her shyness and fear. No one had believed in the possibility that an exigator could be created. A machine that would move a living being from one planet to another was simply not possible. The most favorable assessment was highly improbable. The King and his council had actually laughed during sections of her presentation. Certain that she would be put to death after her ideas were rejected, she sat quietly and waited.

  Only one council member, Slithest, a cunning political advisor, supported her. She had been surprised late that afternoon when King Ceidis stood and gave his approval for the project, allocating a large sum of funds and appointing Slithest to head the project. He forbade anyone at the meeting to speak disparagingly of the project. Within weeks, Izixebi understood why her idea had been approved. It was Slithest himself who confided in her. He had the ear of the King and had convinced him that hope, even an improbable hope, would provide an appearance that the government was working to save the citizens. A belief in possible salvation was better than looking certain death in the face. The King needed to show the people that steps were b
eing taken to insure the survival of Tonk. The news was spread rapidly and at least, for a time, the people had confidence in the government. Hope is a powerful drug. Suddenly there was an answer. A ripe world awaited them for conquest. They could all be teleported to the new planet and establish themselves in a land where quartzline was not a threat. And why only one world? The entire universe would be open to them. A fierce debate began on whether the new planet should be renamed Tonk, with any additional worlds given new names, or if all conquered planets should be named Tonk in numerical succession. Tonk 2, Tonk 3, etc.…

  Izixebi, an advanced mathematician, and Slithest, the money controller, had set up a laboratory manned by six scientists and ten technicians. Now, twenty years later, there were sixteen top scientists and over a hundred techs. All work had borne very little positive results.

  The news today was that the night shift had performed a transport of a lomuse from its cage to the receptors twenty feet away. The animal had lived for several hours before it had expired. A dissection of it was now being carried out to discern the actual cause of death.

  “Do not let our giant step today slow down your work,” said the director. “We need to extend both the distance of the transport and the direction of the transport,” said the director.

  He asked for any comments from the group, and when there were none, he dismissed them.

  “We’ve got to redouble the efforts to reverse the machine’s action. Remember, our goal is to send, not receive.”

  The group filed out slowly with renewed hope for success.

  KING CEIDAS

  Young Ceidas was not the scholar who stood at the head of his class. He hated studying, disliked reading, and failed miserably at spheroids, the major sport on Tonk. His years at the state home/school were lonely and empty. He looked forward to leaving and joined the military as soon as he could. As a new inductee into the royal service right out of the state-run school, Ceidas had been assigned to an outpost in Tonk’s far southern peninsula of Nnumantic, the most distant outpost in the frozen southern region. It was an austere post that gave plenty of time for book studies. Most assignees spent their time in advanced studies. Ceidas still hated books, and there were few other redeeming graces.