by David Beers
"That's what this is, then? Simple love? Morena are you living in some tale, one with monsters and heroes, where love conquers everything? Do not be so simpleminded. There are thousands of implications to consider about what you're proposing."
"What? What are they?" she asked, her voice rising. "Whether The Council deems my offspring pure? Whether I'll be influenced by some other planet? Whether he will take over? What is it that I need to concern myself so much with?"
"All of those things," Helos said, lowering her own voice. "All and more. What of your offspring? Our bloodline has never been broken, from the first to you. Are you willing to throw that away for him?"
"Yes," she said.
"And then what of the next Var, your daughter? A hybrid of Bynum and Lorn blood. What planet will she rule? It's never been attempted before, what if she is deformed, what if she dies in the womb—what if all the children you attempt to have die in the womb? Would you end our bloodline, our entire species for this man?"
Morena stopped walking. Helos saw she hadn't considered such a possibility. Without a Var, Bynimian would die. No argument could be mounted against it.
"What of that, Morena?" she asked.
"It won't happen."
Helos laughed, unable to help herself. "You sound like a child. How do you know it won't happen?"
Morena didn't answer.
Helos remained silent for a few seconds.
"My life is more than half over, Morena. Soon, you will be Var and you're thinking like a newborn. You cannot think like this, not if you are to watch over Bynimian. You must think of them, and not of yourself. Bynimian is bigger than the Var; it's all that matters. You are here asking me something, thinking only of yourself. You cannot be Var if you rule like that."
"Then maybe I can't be Var, mother," her voice was quiet and her aura spreading out around her, beautiful and at peace. Before Helos, the Var she always wanted to raise. The Var that could lead Bynimian into the future. Only, the decision she was now making … she didn't see the far reaching consequences, or if she did, she didn't care.. "I won't give him up. If I do not receive your blessing, then there are only two choices. I either live here, not as Var, or I go to Lorn and become his wife as he rules. Those are the only options, because I will live my life with him."
"You will have to make your choice, then, Morena. Think about it and let me know tomorrow."
13
Present Day
"He wants to be let loose," Knox said.
"Oh, that's all?" Trone said and smiled. "Did he say anything else?"
"That was it. And then there's Will, he says—"
"Will?"
"There's no last name," Knox said. "Not that I know of. He's the one that the alien possessed, the one in there with Marks. He says that he's freed."
"That's convenient. Marks wants out and suddenly this other man is ready to go too." Trone stood up from his desk. "Let's bring everyone in there, then. See what Marks says about the plan."
"Sir, he won't say anything unless we agree to let him out."
"That's fine, but I still want to hear him say it."
Knox stood but didn't move. "Sir, we are ready to launch the assault within the hour. Heads of State are here and waiting for us to begin. Why would we go to him?"
Trone walked to the door and turned around. "Because I'm not sure this is going to work, General, and I want to understand a bit more about this man in case it doesn't. It won't take long. Grab a few of the other Generals, and pull in the map we plan on using."
"There are things you need to know about him first, sir. He is, beyond what he did to the President, insane on a level that I'm not sure can be measured. This whole enterprise, from the moment he took control, has been run incorrectly. In fact, I would say it's been run incorrectly on purpose. I don't know his motives, but they don't align with mine or the United States. Look at what he just did. He killed the President and now he wants you to let him out. It gets no crazier than that."
"What about his intelligence, General? What if we need it?"
Knox held the President's eyes. "He's smart, smarter than anything I've ever seen, but what does it matter if he's playing for a team that we don't even know exists. If he's against us, none of his brains matter."
Trone took a step toward Knox.
"Hayley was an idiot, Knox. He died because he treated a mad dog badly and then let it off its fucking leash. I'm not Hayley, and I'm not an idiot. Marks won't use me and he won't be in control of this operation again. If I can use him, though, I will."
Trone didn't understand. How could he, though? Outside of Hayley's murder, he hadn't watched Marks at work. He thought Marks a mad dog, and mad dogs could be kept on leashes or in pens. Marks wasn't a dog, though. He was something else, something far worse. Dogs—they couldn't plan. Emotions drove dogs. Marks didn't have emotions, none that Knox could detect, anyway. Emotions could be toyed with.
"Sir, I urge you to use caution with this man."
"Noted. Now please bring the other Generals."
Knox stood to the left of the screen, the Generals flanking him on either side. The President stood in front of the screen, and he faced Marks who stood in his cage. The two men were maybe five feet apart.
"This is what we plan on doing, what you see behind me," he gestured to the transparent board, with digital lines showing the United States and military attack plans, rolled in by Knox and another General. "I don't know much about you, Mr. Marks, but I hear you're pretty smart, if clearly insane."
And, of course, Marks smiled at that. Knox had seen the smile too many times; he couldn't fucking take it anymore. If he had to look at it right now—while the sick fuck sat in a cage and played everyone around him as if they were the simplest of instruments, like a toddler's toy keyboard—he would start screaming, veins struggling at the sides of his neck, and unable to stop.
"What would make you think I'm insane?" Marks said.
"You won't get any rises out of me, Mr. Marks. What I want from you is a bit of your intellect. I want you to look at our plans, that will launch within the hour, and give me your opinion. That's it, nothing else. It must be clear to you that your life is in my hands, so think before you answer."
Knox looked up, despite hating the smile, he wanted to see Marks' face. Perhaps Trone would change his tone a bit. Marks looked past Trone at the board. His smile was gone, his face a study in concentration. He only looked at it for two or three seconds, before focusing on Trone again.
"My opinion is that I want a full pardon, and then I want to be released from this cage. That's the only opinion I have on the subject."
Trone smiled. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Trone looked to Knox. "He is fucking crazy, isn't he?"
Knox said nothing.
Back to Marks, Trone said, "We'll see how this goes." He took a step to the other cage, the one with Will. He sat in the corner, his back against the metal and his hands hanging off his folded knees. "And you, back from the dead is what General Knox tells me?"
Will only looked at the man. His beard was coming in thick now, growing down his neck and covering much of his face.
"Or have you been taken over again?" Trone said.
"No, I'm here."
Trone nodded slightly. "You've served your country well; I have no doubt in that. Even working with the monster next to you. I am sorry about your current predicament, truly, but we can't let you out until we're sure. For obvious reasons."
Knox watched as Trone held the man's eyes; it lasted a full five seconds before the President turned away, looking back to Marks.
"So, not going to take a look and give us some direction? Knox told me I was wasting my time coming in here, but I thought I'd give it a shot."
"General Knox is smarter than he gives himself credit for."
Trone nodded, smiling back at Marks. He turned around and looked at the Generals. "Let's get started."
"She'll kill you."
W
ill watched the group of men leave, and now he was alone with Marks again. They hadn't spoken much since their initial conversation. Will didn't have anything to say to him, and Marks seemed content with silence, simply looking out into space. He didn't know exactly what was going on in the man's mind, but he was more than sure that Marks was plotting, figuring out how to leave his cage.
Will had no thoughts on that matter, for himself at least. He would wait, and either the powers that be would let him go or they wouldn't. When he got out, that was something else entirely—but something far away.
"You think so?" Marks said, not turning from his standing position facing the door.
"Without a doubt. She'll kill you quicker than they threw you in here. If you get out, and you go through with whatever fucked up plan you're creating, you'll die."
"I've lasted a pretty long time, against some pretty big odds—if this was Vegas, I think my odds would be at least at fifty-fifty."
"You're delusional, Marks." Will didn't bother looking up at him. What else could he say? Certainly nothing he thought would change Marks' mind.
"Did they come and see me?"
Will's eyes flashed to Marks. The man had moved across his cell to stand next to Will's without making a sound. Will's senses weren't dulled, but he hadn't heard a single footfall from the man.
"They came here and asked me what I thought about their plan. Why would they do that, Will? Why were they just in here if I was delusional?"
"Even if they let you go, you'll lose. That's what you don't see. You somehow actually think you're that thing's equal. You're not. I've seen her, more than I ever wanted to, and there is nothing you can do against her, Marks. Maybe nothing the entire human race can do."
"Would you keep fighting, Will? If they let you out of this cage, do you think you'd still find a way back to Grayson, Georgia and try to stop her?"
Will hadn't considered the question, not even since regaining control of himself. He wasn't getting out of this cage, not alive anyway. But the question still hung in the air, and Marks didn't move, but looked on, wanting an answer. Would he go back down there, or would he try to escape? Because Will called him delusional, and then proceeded to tell him how he didn't have a chance against her.
He knew there was nowhere to run. He knew that she would kill him if he tried to stop her, the same as if Marks tried to control her. Yet, he couldn't simply say no.
"What's wrong? Tough question to answer?" Marks said.
Borders meant nothing to this creature, or the minions she created. Would he hide down here in this bunker like some kind of rat, hoping that no one found him?
Or would he go back and fight? Marks died no matter what; that was a non-negotiable. But after? Would Will throw his life away?
"Delusional. Perhaps we all are, then, no?" Marks said.
"We're going to end up letting him out," Trone said. "I want you to understand that now, so that when it happens, we're not in an argument."
Knox knew the words would come, he just didn't think so soon.
"You don't think what we're going to do will work?"
"I don't know, but if it doesn't, we'll need him," Trone said.
Need him.
Nothing on Earth needed that creature.
"Sir, are my thoughts on the subject of Marks clear?"
"Crystal, but it's not going to change anything. We have to win this war. You already know what happens if we don't. If he can help us do that, then we're going to use him."
The two men took a right in the hallway, heading down another one of the endless corridors. Thousands and thousands of pounds of rock lay above them, yet no one that walked these halls felt fear about it. Innate trust in the men who built this internal fortress years ago, trust in the job they did. That the math they used, the calculations, the workmanship, all of it was first class and would last—if not forever—then certainly close to it.
And what was different from their belief in those men and the American public’s belief in their leaders?
The difference might be that those who built these walls actually did a good job and the people making decisions about everyone else's safety …
Were what? Flawed, egotistical, and perhaps narcissistic? Evil? In Marks' case, yes. In Trone's? Not necessarily, but he wasn't one of the men that built this underground labyrinth.
And wasn't Knox a part of them? He walked these corridors and made the same decisions as the rest of them, and yet somehow he felt separate. Different.
"Mr. President, letting him go will be a disaster. For everyone involved. He doesn't care about us, about America, about the planet. His only concern is himself."
"I know, General—you've told me already. And, again, I'm fine with it. I can control him. I know your concerns, and I appreciate them, but within the next four to five hours, we're going to know whether he's getting out or not."
"So it depends on our initial attack?"
Both men stopped at their destination, the door standing between them and the rest of Knox's team.
"If this fails, General, we both know that an initial attack might be our only attack. I'm not going to wait until it's over to make my decision."
14
Present Day
Is he alive? Michael asked. The blood on his body, the few inches still left on the floor, none of it concerned him. Briten's eyes were still closed, and Michael couldn't see out, couldn't see anything besides the books dripping blood from their leather backs. I know you hear me. I know you're healing. You tell me if he's alive, goddamnit.
He knew why Briten kept his eyes closed. The creature didn't want Michael to see his father die, the only goddamn mercy the thing had doled out this entire time.
IT'S NOT YOUR CHOICE, Michael shouted. YOU DON'T DECIDE THIS.
Briten said nothing in return, only lay on the ground, his breathing returning to normal with each passing moment. And if he could heal, if Michael's body could heal, then certainly his father's could too.
Please. Just tell me if he's dead. Please.
Michael collapsed to his knees, blood splashing up on his legs as he did.
She knows and you can ask her. She'll answer you.
How many times had Michael wished his father dead? How many times had he fallen asleep, crying, wishing his father wouldn't be there when he woke? He would have rather had no parents than to have his dad. And yet, Wren just kept living. Kept waking up everyday and creating hell all round him. He woke up and destroyed the lives around him.
Yet Michael couldn't stand up. He couldn't stop the tears flowing down his face, turning a dirty red almost from the moment they left his eyes as they mixed with the blood. He wanted his father to live, wanted to see him again, to talk to him, to fucking do anything besides bury him. Because the truth, as real as the years of abuse that Michael had taken, was that he had no one else. His mother was dead. Thera was dead. Bryan and Julie remnants of some other life that he no longer remembered. His father was the only one left.
And if he died, Michael had no one. He would live in this library and listen to an alien's thoughts, knowing that everything and everyone he ever loved was dead.
Please, he said again. Just tell me.
He loved his father. That's what he knew now, on his knees, and blood dripping from his body. He hadn't always known it; for much of his life he knew that he hated his father. And maybe he still did, what had been done couldn't be undone, but even so, love remained for his dad too. Love and longing, for something that had once been and would never come again. Because they had been a team, once. Three on the team and then two, but a team all the same.
Michael didn't need that back. That could never return and Michael was fine with it. He only needed his father alive. Just breathing and talking, and he wouldn't ask for anything else. No relationship, no team, just alive.
Give me that, God, and even as he thought the words, he didn't know if he was praying to a deity or simply begging the universe.
Briten was
doing something. Michael didn't know what, exactly. It felt like a transfer, like osmosis even, cells moving an item from one entity to the next. Michael didn't know what was being moved or to where, but the transfer was happening.
What are you doing? Tell me if he's alive!
No answer came back though, just that passage of … information. Nothing physical moving out of Briten, only knowledge.
FIND OUT!
Briten had to hear him; he just wouldn't answer.
Michael reached down into the blood around his knees and threw it, casting the red drops far away from himself. YOU MOTHERFUCKER TELL ME IF HE'S ALIVE!
Silence answered him, that and the constant pitter-patter of blood dripping down the walls.
And then, Briten spoke. He's alive.
Michael fell to his elbows, his face merely inches away from the red liquid. Clear tears fell into the blood causing tiny ripples to spread out as relief washed over him, more cleansing than water could ever hope to be.
Briten opened his eyes.
He saw Michael's father, saw the other kid kneeling next to him, checking on him.
The man was alive. Morena had been able to save him.
Morena.
Briten saw her green aura still wrapped around him, though the blood that shot from his body no longer covered the white strands. She saved him too.
Could he get up? Could he stand?
Morena was reading him, somehow, even in this body, and he felt her aura tighten.
"No," she said. "You're still weak. Wait and rest."
She was nervous, unsure what all this meant, and he didn't have the strength to give her all of the information right now. She saw three humans, and her husband inside one of them, yet at the same time she was still fighting a war.
Briten smiled, his face still on the soft bed of strands. His warrior wife. Would his father be proud? Or just amazed at Briten's stupidity? He left his planet for another, and now he lay nearly dead with a wife more powerful than he could ever hope to be again.
