by David Beers
Nemesis: Book Four
David Beers
Contents
Insider Club
Dedication
1. Present Day
2. Rigley's Mind
3. Present Day
4. After the Destruction of Bynimian
5. Present Day
6. Present Day
7. Present Day
8. Present Day
9. Present Day
10. After the Destruction of Bynimian
11. Present Day
12. Present Day
13. Rigley's Mind
14. Present Day
15. Present Day
16. Present Day
17. After the Destruction of Bynimian
18. Present Day
19. Present Day
20. A Long Time Ago, in Another Place
21. Present Day
22. After the Destruction of Bynimian
23. Present Day
24. Rigley's Mind
25. Present Day
26. Present Day
27. Present Day
28. A Long Time Ago, in Another Place
29. Present Day
30. Present Day
31. Present Day
32. Present Day
33. Present Day
Nemesis: Book Five
Insider Club
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For my father.
1
Present Day
Will floated among the clouds.
They looked truly magnificent, unlike anything he had experienced before. There were times when he needed to jump from planes, but that was simply a rush, a fall that one didn't so much experience as frantically try to grasp, failing with each passing second. This was different. This was looking out across heaven; this was understanding beauty. Everything that happened down below, from the crater in the earth, to Marks’ running around plotting, none of it mattered from up here. Up here, there was only white and blue, only a light breeze.
He could get lost in the beauty, even with what surrounded him—but not for long, because his eyes would see the green smoke wrapping around him, reminding him it was the reason he still lived. The air up here was far too thin to keep him alive, yet he floated miles above the world, his lungs working just fine.
Because of the creature in front of him.
His eyes found her again and he remembered why he came, returning from the wonder of these heavens.
She stared back at him, not speaking, the color stemming from her body enveloping Will in a loose fitting cocoon.
Will didn't know what to say. No sound came from his earpiece, no words were spoken. Stunned, all of his training disappeared. He stood—well, he floated—in the presence of something far greater than humanity could be or produce, and there was nothing for him to do but stare at her and wait for the death surely coming.
"Will, are you there? Can you hear me?"
The earpiece spoke to him finally, Marks' voice sounding as calm as ever.
"Yes," Will whispered, though he understood that the creature ten feet from him knew everything she needed to, that whispering wouldn't keep anything from her.
"Tell her your name," Marks said.
"Tell him to stop speaking," the creature said, the nearly ephemeral color tightening against Will, not choking him, but applying pressure that made his heart pound in his chest. Will said nothing, though, because Marks' voice died in his ear.
"You, you tell me, not your…" and she paused, seeming to search for the correct word. "Not your puppeteer. Tell me why you returned."
Will noticed for the first time that his mouth was dry; it felt like all the moisture left him the same as the ground beneath his feet. Up here in this sky, he was completely alone, with nothing but space and a long fall beneath him. Somehow he had allowed his mind to become enraptured with what surrounded him instead of what faced him. Now, though, that notion ended. He saw what was before him—saw it clearly, and understood there was no one coming to help him. Marks sent him because he realized how alone one would be with this thing, because Marks was smarter than anyone Will had ever met. What had Will thought? Certainly not this, floating in the clouds and staring at something that shouldn't exist.
Will never understood complete abandonment until this moment.
He tried to swallow, but nothing went down his throat. "The man in my ear sent me. He wants… I don't know. He wanted me to come and so here I am."
"You came to the house, to the girl's house. You saw me there, didn't you?"
Will nodded.
"Were you in the woods?"
"I missed my shot," he said.
Silence hung between them, so thick it almost took form.
"What is it you want?" she asked.
Hanging slightly above the clouds, flying like a god, this alien asked him an existential question. Asked him what he wanted, and the question wasn't meant as 'what do you want right now', but bigger, deeper. Will didn't know how he knew that, but he did. This creature wanted to understand something about him.
He could only tell the truth, because he thought that if he lied up here among the clouds, he might not live long enough to watch the fall as his body plummeted back to Earth, landing with such force that he would end up as little more than a bloody gel.
"I used to know. But I don't think I do anymore. I used to want to make sure that things like you didn't get a start on our planet. I used to want to keep things safe for others."
"And now?" she said.
He couldn't tell her that he wanted to live, because that wasn't necessarily the truth—or the whole truth. Rigley lived, but what kind of life, and in the end, that was his fault. So was it life he sought in total, or something else? Was it redemption?
"I don't know," he said. "A lot of things, maybe. Or nothing."
The alien looked at him with eyes that no doubt had seen things Will couldn't imagine, eyes that probably looked at his singular life the same as he would an ant's. Disposable. Inconsequential. Tiny to the point of less than insignificant. Yet she didn't move.
Will wondered what she thought, wondered if she believed him, or if she thought him playing coy. Fear didn't run through him, not exactly, though he realized that coyness would kill him. He told her the truth hoping that she would see it, hoping that it would be enough.
"What is the man in your ear's name?"
God bless, it was enough.
"Marks," Will said.
She nodded slightly. "Marks…" she whispered his name, and then speaking louder, said, "What do you want?"
Again, the eery calm came through the earpiece to Will. It was as if nothing Marks saw right now bothered him in the least. As if the man was simply describing to someone how to fix a broken faucet.
"I want to meet you."
A smile bloomed on the alien's face, brilliant like the sun, and the color around Will spread out, allowing him to feel her happiness.
A sick happiness though.
Like a tumor smiling.
"Are you the one in charge, the one who sent those men to kill me with the machines?"
"I'm in charge," Marks said.
"Good," the alien said. "I think we should meet, too."
Will watched as a piece of the green turned into a point, then moved to aim at his face.
He wanted to scream, because in that instant he understood what was to happen.
It came too quick for him to really notice, though. He couldn't even breathe.
* * *
Rigley's eyes were open.
For the first time in over a decade, she opened them, and c
ould see the world around her.
It wasn't just the images on the television screen; she had been able to see the physical world during her lengthy sleep, of course. But her interpretation of those images changed now. It wasn't that she saw Marks sitting on the couch across from her, but that she saw him as a separate entity now. Before he had been a god figure, something to be feared and respected, but now she saw him as only a man, one that happened to be across the room from her. She didn't fear him anymore. She only wanted to get away, because she had things to do.
Will was on the television, or rather, what Will was staring at. He looked directly into the thing's face, a mask of green and yet eerily human qualities. Rigley recognized though that it didn't matter if this thing was human or not, beauty radiated off it, off her, and Rigley found it hard to pull her eyes away because of that beauty. This thing was more than just an alien. That wasn't the only reason everyone in the room was held with rapture, because even through the television, Rigley sensed the striking power, the allure, the sense of right. Rigley thought, briefly, that it was like looking at some dominant king five hundred years ago, caught up in his greatness.
That summed it up, that word. Greatness. Something men thought they saw in each other, but until now, none held a clue as to what the word actually meant.
Rigley looked over to Marks, wanting to know if he saw the same thing. He stared at the screen as if it held the secret to eternal life. To Rigley, she couldn’t tell if he was even breathing, his stillness so total, but his eyes so alive. They danced like a bug's legs after flying into one of those blue zapper lamps.
Was this his lamp? This thing on the television.
The alien's words filled up the room as she asked Marks what he wanted. Rigley didn't look to the television, but watched Marks as he picked up the radio on his lap, putting it to his lips. She didn't listen to what he said, because she didn't care—she didn't care what he wanted at all anymore. She was only concerned with how he acted. She needed to understand him better, because in that understanding, she would find her escape.
His movements were the same—everything the same—except for his attention. It wasn't on anyone else in the room, as it usually was. Everything about Kenneth Marks focused on the television screen.
That's how you'll get away, Rigley thought. Because something is going on with him and this thing, something that isn't exactly right, and while he's so focused on her, you'll have a chance. Just wait for it, wait and be ready when it happens.
And go where?
It doesn't matter. Whatever it is you have to do, it isn't here. Here is done. Here is dead, and you're done living with the dead. It's time that you start living, and if there isn't anyone else alive on this planet, then you live alone, but you will live.
Rigley wasn't one hundred percent sure what to do yet, but she knew that it no longer consisted of obeying Kenneth Marks.
* * *
Kenneth Marks couldn't be happier.
He had been told to shut up, been completely ignored, and every single second of it was absolutely fantastic. This beautiful being was doing everything he hoped she would. Regal, magnificent, and strong—she wasn't disappointing.
Yes, this is what he had been hunting for. This was the missing piece in his life.
Now he just needed to figure out how to put himself near her, needed to figure out how to make her see what he was, and what she could help him be. She needed to see him as he saw her, that he was the link between her species and his, once she taught him.
Kenneth Marks knew Rigley was looking at him, and also could tell by her body language that she wasn't aware of his knowledge. She had changed, and he was beginning to think something inside her mind had broken. If he could have a few minutes with her, to talk to her for just a bit, he could figure out what it was and if he could fix it. A part of him, now an insignificant part, still wanted to have fun with Rigley. That part was overshadowed by what filled the television screen, but it couldn't be fully eclipsed. Rigley would still be a part of this, whether that came through a bomb or some other mechanism. Kenneth Marks would do his absolute best to make sure she realized her fear. She would relive Bolivia; she would relive her child's death.
But God save him, the creature was speaking to him now. Joy rushed through Kenneth Marks just as it would an addict taking the first line of cocaine to his nose.
"What do you want?" she asked.
And there had never been a simpler answer in the history of Earth.
"I want to meet you," he said, staring at her the same as Will, both of them unable to look away. He watched her smile, and while Kenneth Marks had never experienced love, was this infatuation? Was he some kind of teenage boy fumbling at a high school slut’s bra-strap?
Maybe. And that was okay. Because fumbling, because infatuation—those things were fun.
"Are you the one in charge, the one who sent those men to kill me with the machines?"
And suddenly the smile, the one from just a second before, turned. It didn't disappear; Kenneth Marks didn't think the corners of her mouth changed, but for the first time he saw danger in the creature for him. Before, he saw danger for other people, but not for himself. He had only seen a perfect union with this creature, or at the least, an imperfect one. Any other path seemed impossible. Until she asked that question. In it, Kenneth Marks saw his own death, saw it clearly, the way that he’d seen so many others' deaths before.
"I'm in charge," Marks said.
"Good," the alien said. "I think we should meet, too."
Kenneth Marks saw no shift in the creature's attention; she seemed to take in everything at once, but he could see a shift in Will's. Kenneth Marks' own eyes found what Will saw quickly, a piece of the green waves surrounding Will breaking off, almost a solid pipe, with a point on the end—only the transparent pipe was flexible, moving like water. It looked at Will for a second, as if it possessed eyes—resembling a snake hesitating before striking.
Kenneth Marks' eyes narrowed, his mind calculating everything it possibly could, trying to race to the conclusion of that colorful pipe.
It moved too quickly, though, stabbing out at Will, filling the camera's vision.
He heard Will breathe in, a straining, hoarse sound, as if he inhaled sand instead of air. The camera now focused up into the blue sky, Will's head turning and losing sight of the creature. Everyone in the room saw a cloudless light blue, listening to sandpaper rub against sandpaper over the television's stereo system.
Kenneth Marks didn't stir as Will remained in that position for thirty seconds. When the camera finally moved again, the view turned, slowly, moving from Will's outward view to Will's own body, and finally to his face. Will's head was cocked slightly as he looked down into the camera. His facial features, the muscles that illustrated emotion, had disappeared, turned lax. His face looked like a well done doll, the eyes being the only thing that showed the humanity—or at least life—inside him.
No chill, no fear ran through Kenneth Marks.
The same calmness that always made up his being remained.
"I'll come see you," Will's mouth said, though not Will. Kenneth Marks wasn't looking at Will any longer, wasn't conversing with Will.
Then the mouth smiled, but not a smile Will had ever used before. The muscles were forced, grotesque, spreading out over Will's teeth in a way that made him look more insect than human.
2
Rigley's Mind
Rigley's foot reached the top of the staircase first, and then carried the rest of her body up with it.
The whole staircase had been dark, like she was walking into a blackhole. Yet when she reached the top, light burst from everywhere, illuminating a room—the only true light she had seen since starting her climb from the first floor. The light had no single source, or at least that's how it appeared. It seemed to come from the walls, ceiling, and floor—but more, it seemed to come from the very air itself—as if it continually created a soothing, warm, white light.
>
Rigley didn't move, she just took it in, the light not blinding her as the warmth it provided spread across her skin.
There was something on the other side of the room. It looked tiny from where she stood, like some kind of miniature statue. It might have been a mile away, give or take, but it was the only thing in this room, the only thing that she could see anyway. Everything else was just pure light.
Rigley didn't want to move, afraid that if she did the whole situation might change. That the light bathing her would disappear, that the warmth she finally felt in this cold place would die, leaving her with goosebumps and questions. There weren't any questions right now because she felt peace, she felt at home.
Some part of Rigley—not her conscious mind, but somewhere in a deep recess of her brain, perhaps only a few cells communicating with each other—felt something burning downstairs. Down what now seemed like an infinite number of flights, in a place that she resided a long, long time ago. Fire burned down there, and it would bring warmth too, but not the kind she felt now.
The problem, what those little cells spoke about, was that nothing could put the fire out. Maybe there had been a time, right when the kindling first began, that Rigley could have returned downstairs and doused it. Now though? No way. The fire was growing, consuming more and more with each passing minute. The brain cells didn't know, necessarily, what started it—but that didn’t concern them: they knew that it would reach her, sooner or later. That the bottom of a house cannot continue to burn and the top of the house stand.
It was a ways off though. There was that at least.
And the rest of Rigley's brain? It wanted to enjoy this room. It was curious for the first time in this place, instead of the dread that filled it for so long. Dread at the pictures, at the statues, at the voices. Now, her brain was curious about what stood on the other side of the room.
And that felt good.
