by Paul Hughes
“Reynald?”
Reynald walked over and helped Windham up. The sound of battle had disappeared in just those seconds, and the two men surveyed the scorched expanse of the crater. There were hundreds, thousands of the projecteds standing in silence, the bodies of Reynald’s forces laying at their feet. The angels made no move to harm the two remaining men.
“Shit. Oh shit.” Windham unsheathed the knife from the front of his armored vest.
“Put it down, Joe.” Reynald looked toward the metal entrance of the tunnel at the bottom of the crater…
“Commander, they’re going to—”
“No. They could have killed us already.” The angels were looking at the crater’s bottom as well. “They’re waiting for something.”
“We can’t just—”
“Drop the knife, son.” Windham followed the orders, stood restlessly amidst the thousands of silent angels, completely unarmed. The knife echoed against the rock as it hit the ground. It was the only sound besides the wind.
A humming, an undertone. They could feel it more than hear it, but it was undeniable. The transport vessel arose from within the tunnel sunk into the earth with a cloud of dust and grit. It hovered above the entrance for a moment before humming horizontally toward Reynald and Windham. The angels silently moved out of its path as it passed through the assembly.
A man stood upon the boxy, saucer-ish transport, holding nonchalantly to a guardrail with one hand and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette with the other. He tossed the cigarette overboard as the vessel slowed to a halt. A stairway materialized and descended. He wasted no time in walking down, the folds of his black robe sweeping out behind him.
His hair fluttered in the breeze, an unruly coif of uncertain design and personality. A fine white tangle graced his hairline, adding contrast to a man who was almost entirely composed of dark.
Reynald sensed Windham tense beside him, preparing himself for anything. Reynald himself was more confused than scared at this newcomer from the tunnel in the earth.
He was direct in his trajectory, walking through the last few angels surrounding Reynald and Windham, each of whom looked to the ground as he passed in deference. At last he was there before them, looking at them with a gaze of silver, a gaze of familiarity.
“You are Jean Reynald?”
“Yes.”
“And Joseph Windham?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. My name’s Whistler. Come with me, please.”
It began
to fall apart, I think, the instant that I started to love you, Jean Reynald.”
He smiled, weak, fading. Hung in light, blood now coursing from the open wound in his neck. She looked younger, not older... How was that possible? The first time he had seen her, she had seemed ancient. Now, she was barely middle-aged. Could it be that she was actually feeding on the energy of the planet? A cooling husk of a world, the inhabitants about to face the realities of a sixth extinction engineered by a criminal exile from another galaxy... She was killing them all, growing younger. Dying.
“You never loved me.”
She touched his cheek in that tender way, the caress of the damned, whispered. “Of course I did, old man.”
Weaker and weaker still, lifeblood pouring down chest, torso, legs, winding down to drip on the floor.
“Just kill me, then. Finish it.”
A tender kiss on the cheek, glance in the eyes that turned into something too long to be a glance.
“Thank you, Jean.”
“For what?”
“Jihad.”
Eyes of silver, lines of fire reaching out in savage strokes, an old man feeling pain no more, an ungenesis begun.
Maire licked his blood from her lips as the body was absorbed into silver.
It began.
Hunter sat in his vacuum seat, pulled the metal frame down over his shoulders, slammed it home and heard the click of the lock. The escape vessel was cold, dark, filled with the sound of roaring engines and sniffling children. Boys. Sons with no mothers, no fathers, no future on the planet that was at present being bombarded from above.
“Listen closely, boys.” Angels walked through the main passageway, checking the restraints on each of the precious passengers. “The city has been destroyed. We have to take you to safety in the outer. You’ll be reunited with your families once we’ve reached safety and the invaders have been dealt with.”
It was a lie, of course, but Hunter wondered if he was the only one of the boys who had seen the waves of flak tear apart the remaining adults outside of the Complex. Anything without shielding would never have withstood that attack. And from the rocking and swaying of the vessel in the launch pipe beneath the complex, it would appear that the attack was still in progress.
There were many empty seats in this passage. Hunter wondered how many boys had been killed before they could get to the Complex for evacuation.
“Hold on tight, little soldiers. We’re about to depart.”
Phased fuel engines rocked underneath the vessel. The sound was deafening. Hunter held tightly to the metal frame before him, with memories of the carnival, the merry-go-round that his mother preferred that he ride and the faster amusements that his father had taken him on long ago.
Engines screaming, little boys screaming. The angels dissembled and they were left alone in the torrent of sound.
Hunter tried to remember his father’s face, but he couldn’t. And when he remembered his mother’s face, all he could see was the smoking hole in her chest, the redness of her bloody mouth and the two lines of tears that slid from her eyes.
He held on tighter. He did not cry.
Light stretched. Everything stretched. The vessel phased and tore from the
launch pipe underneath the complex. Lily hung languidly in her restraints. The bubble was at the center of the vessel, surrounded by massive amounts of physical and phase shielding. She sensed the others on board, felt the touch of maybe hundreds, maybe thousands of terrified minds. Boys. That’s what they were. The vessel was filled with children, but she was special. She was in the bubble at the center.
She could see it, somehow, the Complex retracting and the vessel emerging from underneath, tearing through an atmosphere filled with enemy fighters, through an orbit filled with enormous enemy worldships and siege machines, through a solar system that would soon be dead, into the black between systems. She saw it from eyes that were not her own, yet somehow were.
Just a little girl in that innate blackness.
only ever really one story
She saw
fighting
She
fighting starlight
she
you know... you do.
stillness
She knew very little, but she knew beyond a doubt that she loved chocolate milk.
A LOSS SO DEAR
“Hunter?”
the
Nine spun around, his face a mask of horror. He clutched his chest, rapidly dissembling from the EM slug. His mouth opened to form her name, but it was too late. Nine flashed from his illusion in a burst of silver.
the stillness
Zero ran to Fleur, her crumpled form leaking a steadily-growing puddle of red onto the hardpan. “Lilith... Oh no. No. Oh god. Lilith.” The weapon dropped from his hand, clattered to the ground.
She smiled, mouth moving to speak, but there was no time. No life. The slug had passed through Nine and torn through the right side of her chest. Struggle to breathe, struggle to hold on to Hunter, Hunter, not Zero. Not that person at all anymore, or ever again.
“Lilith?” he sobbed, stroked her face, so white now. He didn’t look at the fine mist of crimson on her neck. He pushed the unruly curl back behind her ear, touched her face, the life draining from her skin, the silver crawling just underneath the surface.
the stillness lost
“Let her go.” Maire stood over them, her black robe whipping in the breeze, hair untied and dancing to the so
ng of the wind, hands still bloody. “There’s nothing we can do now.”
Hunter reached out and grabbed the weapon before Maire could stop him, raised the barrel to target, just inches from her forehead. The child didn’t flinch.
“Do it. You know you want to.”
Lilith slumped in his arms. Silver ran from her eyes.
“You know you have to.”
Hunter cried out in frustration, in grief. He pulled Lilith’s limp form closer, keeping his weapon trained on Maire.
“If I don’t—”
“Do it.” She took a step closer to the tip of the weapon. “End it now.”
He closed his eyes, saw the image of her face burned into that perfect darkness.
“End it.”
Hunter Windham pulled the trigger.
“Did you actually think it would work?”
The interior of the cell was neither dim nor cold, as she had supposed it would be. If anything, it was the brightest and most welcoming room she’d seen in
in
how long?
She cleared her throat but gave no indication that she desired to communicate with her interrogator. The way he stood on the other side of the shield, hands clasped behind his back, chin up, staring proudly down aquiline nose... He embodied every reason she had carried out her plan. He was a symbol of that which she had struggled so valiantly for years to destroy.
“Don’t answer, then. Might be the best thing for you.”
She slumped into one well-lit corner of her prison, wrapped arms around knees, stared back at the man with a gaze that was beyond cold, beyond emotionless. He didn’t flinch.
“Do you have any questions before I leave?”
She brushed the unruly curl from her forehead, reflexively tucking it behind her left ear. “When is the trial?”
“No trial. Just sentencing. That will come soon enough.”
She exhaled slowly, audibly. “Goodnight.”
He was concerned. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I—”
“Goodnight.”
He turned and walked, gazing at floor and nothing else. “Goodnight, Maire.”
It would be a night without sleep.
“Orders coming through.”
Task swam over to join his co-pilot at the controls. The screen flickered with distortion for a moment, resolving into a static-filled image of Hannon.
“Find anything else today, boys?”
“Nothing. No survivors so far.”
“The sentencing is at the end of the week. Gather as much feed as you can, focusing on the major cities.”
“There’s not much to see there, sir. The most physical damage was done at the poles.”
“I don’t care about geology, Task. Get me footage of people.”
Off-screen, Co-Pilot L shook its head. Task smirked and nodded.
“There’s not much left of the people, Commandant. Just the silver.”
“Just get me some evidence. You know what I need.”
“Yes, sir.”
Elle broke the connection, flew the vessel back above the clouds. “What exactly do they expect us to find?”
Task lit a smoker. “Evidence of the catalyst.”
Elle’s plastic face attempted a smile. “You sure you want to be in this atmosphere, fleshbag?”
Task smiled and blew smoke in Elle’s non-face. “You bet your metal ass, hon.”
They flew.
“Did you see the report?”
“Which one?”
“Biological.”
Berlin leaned back in his chair, fingertips touching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. He’d not slept since the attack, and now, eyes closed and heartbeats pounding in his throat, he truly did not care to look over any more reports on the criminal. His world was an ache not isolated to behind his eyes.
Exhale. “What does it say?”
“Just take a look at it.”
“I really don’t—”
“Berlin.” Hannon pushed the viewer closer. “Look at it.”
He lifted the thin pane of optic from the desktop, looked nonchalantly over the flickering screen until it snapped into his line of focus. His eyes widened and he sat upright.
“Is this a joke?”
“Sir.” Hannon’s gaze was all the assurance he needed.
“Why didn’t the filters pick this up?”
“She never underwent a full scan before. There was no need until she—”
“Understood.”
“Do you know what this means?”
“Are there any other abnormalities?”
“The resonance.”
“One heart. We never would have known.”
“She could have slipped through all of her life.”
“She should have been filtered years ago.”
Hannon motioned toward the viewer on the wall, which swirled into focus. Maire was curled into a fetal position on the floor of her cell, eyes wide, staring into nothing. Her hands were clasped before her mouth as if in prayer. Berlin highly doubted that that was what she was doing.
“Any readings on the silver yet?”
“She’s clean. The room’s clean.”
“Where did it go?”
Hannon shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not on the vessel. We’re at highest alert, but I don’t think we’ll see an outbreak.”
Berlin stood, walked to the viewer. “Orbital.” The shot changed to that of the planet below them. “Highlight Task position.” A white targeting reticule revealed the position of the advance vehicle. “Has he reported?”
“Northern continent is clear. Drones on recon in the south.”
“Anything at all?”
“Nothing.”
“Still hot?”
“Hazard science is analyzing core samples. Doesn’t look good.”
“Orbital zoom. Northern continent, city seven.”
The viewer re-aligned, swept in through cloud cover and the suffocating silver cloud of the attack, paused just miles above the city.
“Closer.”
Past science drones, past a war platform, through a line of black smoke coming from several miles of unchecked wildfire. The viewer held position under the ceiling of metallic dust, focused.
“Closer.”
The viewer beeped a negative.
“Closer.”
Negative.
“I think that’s the signal cutoff. The atmosphere is creating too much interference to transmit below that line.”
Berlin turned from the image of burned buildings; that mercurial reflection only heightened the ache behind his eyes, and the aches in his chest.
“How soon before we can get some recovery teams down there?”
“Sir, we won’t—”
“How soon?”
Hannon cleared his throat. “We have to study the silver. Right now, there’s no way to tell how long the planet will be hot.”
“As soon as we can… As soon as it’s safe, I’m going down.”
“Sir?”
Fingertips to bridge of nose, pausing ever so slightly to wipe moisture from eyes.
“My family’s down there. My wife and children.”
Hannon looked everywhere but Berlin’s eyes. “Sir, I’m so sorry. No one told me—”
“As soon as we can, I’m going down there to get my family. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
Berlin walked out of the room. It would be a long night in space.
It would be a long night in the cell.
She couldn’t sleep. Hadn’t been able to sleep in years. No bed in that room. At least it wasn’t cold. At least it wasn’t comfortable.
She felt the scan, that subtle tug of her molecules as the room made note of her irregularities. She knew that they’d try to find the silver. She’d buried it deep. She slowed the beat of her heart, slowed her respiration, closed her eyes. The sleep would never come again.
She felt them watch her, the polished circle at the c
enter of the ceiling reaching down and scraping her flesh, tearing away photons to be reassembled in that heavily-shielded bunker on the surface of the vessel where the men who made war would decide her fate.
She felt the dead. There were voices from within, faded echoes of families who looked into the sky from picnics in the park, mothers whose final vision was the deployment vehicle and whose final thought was to throw themselves over their children, as if a foot of their flesh could ever have shielded their offspring from the silver. She heard the sobs of men who had never known that they could cry. She heard that final, startling crackle as the atmosphere solidified for one beautiful moment.
Tug.
She rolled on to her back, sat upright, looking at the tip of the viewer on the ceiling. If she had conserved any of her strength, she could have easily escaped this vessel. She could have shattered that viewer, could have reached through the microglass passages and torn the souls from those men. She could have, if she were not dying from her last exertion.
Maire pulled her knees up to her chest, stared at the wall. They had captured her, but it was not over yet. She would finish them.
She closed her eyes.
The exhaled line of gray was confused in zero-grav.
Task hovered before the observation bubble. It was supposed to be sleep time, or so the meaningless timer informed him. Elle was on the bridge, immersed in flashing recharge mist. He lit another smoker, considered waking his androgyn artificial companion, but decided to let the machine rest in peace. This vessel was one of the only places that silence and solitude abounded in these uncertain times.
A streak of light from outside of the bubble as another war platform descended. Task extended his right index finger and a zoom reticle surrounded the black-on-black of several million tons of metal and slumbering biologic that was the platform. They were sending platforms to secure the northern continent now; the scientists were reasonably certain that the catalyst had dissipated enough to send in the near-living ground troops.
