by Mark Tufo
“I thought that the two of you would like to know that the Progerian High Council will be meeting us here in a few hours.”
“The Progerians? Not the Genogerians?” I asked.
“We have messages out to the both of them; the Progerians, however, were the first to respond.”
“Hmm.” Cedar was thinking.
“What’s hmm?” I asked. Porter was looking to her as well.
“You have a strained relationship with them?” she asked.
“It is something we have been working to overcome for seemingly ages,” he responded. “They believe themselves to be superior to us in every way.”
“Why would they come here?” she asked.
“I do not understand the question,” Porter said.
“Your relationship is strained. Graylon’s attack on the Human base would have only compounded that, yet they are the first to respond to your call. It doesn’t make much sense.”
“Perhaps they now have seen the error of their ways,” Porter said naively.
“Just now, just this very moment in history, after untold years of enmity, they have finally come to their senses? Does that ring true with you?”
“I thought it sounded strange, but why would I doubt them? And their help would be a welcome addition.”
“Are you just being paranoid?” I asked Cedar.
“Were you?” she said, referring to Graylon’s attack and subsequent trap.
“Good point. Where’s Commander Kabon?”
He didn’t immediately escort us off the bridge once Cedar and I voiced our concerns; that alone led me to believe he was questioning what was happening as well.
“It is my sincerest hope that you are mistaken, but you are right about one thing; we cannot risk the chance if you are correct. I will talk to Graylon and see what he wants to do.”
For some reason, I found the lack of true leadership among the Genogerians disturbing. It made moving ahead with any degree of quickness a difficult and frustrating undertaking.
“Do you wish us to stay?” Cedar asked.
I grabbed her arm. Porter had told us that his brother was angry that he had so willingly fallen into a trap that had nearly destroyed a ship. He was not mad at us for alerting him to that fact; my guess was embarrassment, though I wasn’t yet sure if they suffered from that emotion. In either case, I thought it best that this conversation happen between them without interference from me or Cedar.
Apparently, the memory of what had almost happened was very much in the forefront of Graylon’s mind. A remote drone was planted where we were supposed to be, and we were assured that we had been moved a significant distance away and should be safe. When Cedar asked for clarification on “should be safe,” she was not answered. As the time approached for the Progerians to show, the ship alerted us to the Imminent Arrival. Porter told Kabon that the signature was that of the Progerian vessel Traitorial. It was only Cedar and me that were struck by the name. We looked at each other.
“That’s a little much, don’t you think?” she asked me.
I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s probably the name of one of their great leaders; no one here seems upset about it.”
Cedar and I weren’t overly shocked when Breeson’s ship, the Iron Sides showed up along with another vessel. We did not get a chance to identify it as the drone was targeted and destroyed. Graylon’s face was stern; the muscles on the side of his jaw were clenched as he spoke to Kabon.
“The Progerians are in league with the Others,” he said unnecessarily. “How can this be? Yes, we have warred in the past…but to side with them?” he spat. “It is an affront to our shared world, our shared heritage.” His emotions quickly changed from shock to outrage to a desire to wipe them from the face of the galaxy. It seemed our quest was losing steam; we were piling up enemies, and as of yet, had not found a friend.
We were in a difficult situation now, disavowed by the Genogerians, betrayed by the Progerians, and actively hunted by the Others. There were not many places to turn.
“Might as well head to Earth,” I said as I sat at the war table with Porter, Graylon and Kabon.
“They will surely be waiting for us to make that move,” Porter interjected.
“Counting on it,” I told them. “Cedar and I were talking last night—” My sister took it from there.
“It seems to me Breeson wants his measure of blood,” Cedar began.
“And us,” I added, sticking my finger in the air.
“Correct me if I’m wrong; the Genogerians do not want to enter into this war…” Cedar said, but it was left as a hanging statement.
Graylon answered with a growl.
“Fair enough,” she continued. “And the Progerians have shown whom they are aligned with, but they were noticeably absent from the ambush, so I don’t think they want any part of it. Still good?” She looked around the room. “That leaves Breeson and this other ship we don’t know about. According to scans before we were so rudely interrupted, it appeared to be of the Others’ origin. Right now, it is Breeson attempting to contain this before it spirals out of control. I don’t know the politics of what happened when the Progerians sold us out, but I do know from reading enough politically-charged conspiracy books that it is likely that the high council wants this dealt with quietly, to make this go away before populaces begin to find out.”
“So there will not be an armada waiting for us.” Porter solved the puzzle quickly.
“We do not know this for sure,” Graylon spoke. “But either way, Breeson must be dealt with. If we neutralize the Others’ greatest commander, they will be forced to escalate.”
“Then,” Cedar began, “with the vast mobilization, news will spread of what happened.”
Kabon stood. “The Genogerians will have to declare at that point. They will not become traitors to their own kind! Even the back-stabbing Progerians will receive pressure to align with us!”
“That’s the conclusion we came to as well,” I said.
Porter spoke. “An all-out war benefits no one, but this one is a long time coming. To not do so now only delays the inevitable. The Others will be more Stryver than Human soon enough, and they will know no other way.”
“I have read up on the ships that all the races have, quantities, capabilities. The Genos and the Progs combined will not be a match for the war machine the Others have assembled. We will not be able to fight like you wish to, Graylon,” Cedar said. “We cannot stand against them and trade weapons fire.” She explained what needed to be done.
“You wish us to come out of hiding? Throw a punch and then retreat again? That is not the noble way to go about it. I would rather die attempting to destroy them all than in running off into the recesses of space!” he roared.
“Your greatest hero and ancestor, Drababan, accepted this tactic when presented by Michael Talbot. Are you doubting the wisdom of those that went before you, and for a while, at least, gave peace to the cosmos?” she asked, shutting him down almost immediately. He wasn’t happy about it and appeared to want to say something in retort, but did not.
Lendor was shaking his head as Cedar spoke, easy enough to know why. He was from a Death Squad; their main tactic involved running headlong into the teeth of the enemy, and if that didn’t work, they mobilized to do it again. He did not understand space battles, openly disliked shooting from hundreds, even thousands of miles away. The measure of a warrior was in witnessing firsthand death being dealt or received. If you could not see the eyes of your opponent, you were cheating the process, not giving Death the proper respect it so richly deserved.
Cedar would pull him aside later and explained that, more than likely, he would get his wish, as she had read multiple times that hostile boarding parties had breached ships and needed to be repelled. I found the gleam in his eye strange. Killing was necessary on our world; on all worlds, really, but actively looking forward to it? We did not share the same viewpoint.
“She is right.” Porter was ta
lking directly to Graylon. “If we die now, what we are attempting to achieve dies with us.”
Graylon did not specifically reply to his brother, but I could tell he sensed a rightness to the words. “And you two believe Breeson will go to Earth for you?” he asked.
“We do. His ego compels him to do it, with or without blessing from his high command.”
“Then that is what we will do,” Graylon said. “Kabon?”
“How is it that once again everything centers around that tiny little planet so far removed from the rest of the known universe? Yes, killing Breeson and destroying the Iron Sides will send a powerful message, one that must be issued, but we must remember that this single act will lead us into a much larger war. Once the Stryvers realize the greatest threat to their existence has been taken out of the equation, they will bring everything they have to bear. There are many unknowns and the variables we are aware of could play out in any manner.”
“These Gendruns we have heard of, is there any chance we could talk to them? Might they side with us?” Tallow asked.
Now it was Porter who was shaking his head. “We do not even know why they fight. They do not attempt to conquer territory, they do not take resources, and as far as we can tell, there is no area they are defending. They fight, kill and die, seemingly to do just that. We have sent envoys to attempt parlay; none have ever returned. We have captured some, but if they realize they cannot immediately escape, they possess an enzyme within themselves that they release; it kills them, and from watching, I can assure everyone here it is a painful process. Why they would rather do that than talk eludes me.”
“I hope we don’t run into them,” Tallow said.
“That would be for the best,” Graylon echoed the words.
“Can’t forget about the giant floating germ we encountered either,” Cedar said. “Where the Stryvers dug them up and how they got them to fight alongside them, I don’t know.”
I hadn’t been thinking on it much until she spoke and then thoughts began to flood into my head. “Commander Kabon, could we get a meddie up here?”
“Are you all right?” Cedar came to my side immediately, feeling my head. “You don’t have a fever. Are you planning on having a fainting episode? Swooning was big during the Victorian age; I knew I should have brought my fainting couch with me…or at least a cushion.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, shrugging her arm off my shoulders as she directed me to a bench in the back. “I have a question a meddie might be best equipped to answer.”
Cedar gave me a strange look. “You’re going to talk to a Genogerian meddie about that?” She looked down. It took me a moment to register what she was suggesting.
“Ew, no! What is wrong with you!?”
Commander Kabon, as of yet had not moved. “Should I call for medical personnel or not?”
“I need one well versed in germs,” I said.
He didn’t ask why. Five minutes later, a Genogerian on the smallish side, who still towered over all the Humans came inside. He was pushing a table full of medical supplies.
“Under-Lieutenant Hebern, sir.” He nodded to the commander. “Is there an injury that needs tending to?” He was looking around but saw no one in distress.
“Thank you for coming, Under-Lieutenant. I have some questions, but first you need to see something,” I said. “Commander Kabon, would it be possible to show him the attack on the stealth ship?”
Commander Kabon did as I requested. We watched the ensuing battle, the destruction of the Ogunquit, which still stung. Porter and Graylon were stoic; we continued to watch as the Stryver ally sent tendrils and gelatinous spheres to attack all the other ships in the area, including ours. Hebern took a great interest in what was happening. When I motioned for it to be shut off, I turned to the meddie.
“Have you identified what that was?” he asked, looking around the room.
“My sister thinks it looks like a germ,” Cedar replied.
“Turn it on again, and pause on the subject,” he asked. He studied the picture for long minutes before he spoke. “Virus,” was the first thing out of his mouth. I do not believe he was speaking to any of us directly.
“Again?” Kabon asked.
“Virus, Commander. It behaves more like a virus. Viruses need a viable host to survive, and that is what this appears to be doing; looking for one. Where most lie in wait to come into contact with one, this is actively searching for something to latch onto. Once it gets into a host cell, in this case metal, it uses the machinery to replicate. It will then consume the host until there is nothing left. It appears that once the host is dead, the virus itself dies with it.”
“Biological warfare,” Porter said. “This is not another enemy; it is a great and horrible weapon created by the Stryvers.”
“That’s good and bad, isn’t it?” I asked.
“What good can come from this?” Porter looked alarmed.
“I cannot even pretend to understand how this works,” Hebern said. “It would appear that the Stryvers have found a way to inoculate themselves against it. If they can, there is no reason to believe we couldn’t do the same.”
“A vaccination?” Cedar asked.
“How does one give a ship a shot?” Tallow asked.
“Perhaps something sprayed onto the surface,” Hebern suggested.
“Or a signal.” It was the first thing out of Serrot’s mouth since this morning. “The viable part…I’m hung up on that.”
“You’re a genius!” Cedar went over, grabbed either side of his head and kissed him. “A substance that can somehow tell the virus the target is an inhospitable host.”
“Of course!” Porter was excited. “We need to have specialists go over these recordings; it is very likely they will find the signal Serrot has alluded to. Once we know what it is and can duplicate it….” He left it at that; the significance was already known throughout the room.
“We have a real chance.” Cedar had a gleam in her eye. I didn’t quite share in her outlook, but her good cheer was infectious.
“I’m just happy we’re going home,” Lendor said.
Serrot and Lendor did something I had never seen before. Cedar’s boyfriend raised a fist up to Lendor, who immediately bumped his own fist against it.
“What was that?” I asked.
“The Genogerians call it a broken fist, something that was done in olden times. Michael used to do it with Drababan and BT.”
Cedar put her fist up for me. “Don’t leave me like this!” she said. “This is going to be the symbol of our revolution!”
I broke my fist with her; seemed silly, but everyone cheered.
When Cedar and I were once again alone and it was nearing time to sleep, doubt began to creep into my soul. When everyone was with me and the tone was spirited, I didn’t think there was anything we couldn’t achieve, but alone….
“Do you think we can win?” I was staring up at the ceiling.
“Do you want a book?” she asked.
“What’s that going to do?”
“It’s going to take your mind off the hole you’re headed down. Do I think we can win? Sure I do. Don’t know for sure, though, and honestly, I don’t want to think about it, because if the worst happens, that means good people start dying.”
“How can you not help but think of that?”
“Because right now I’m on the streets of 19th century France with Kassandra, the English spy, and the French diplomat, Mathieu, that she has fallen in love with.”
“It’s that easy for you?”
“It has to be. I don’t want to be neurotic, like you.”
“I still have a pillow.”
“I dare you. We’re going to win, Winter. Yeah, Breeson might be a brilliant tactician, but he is egotistical as well. He will underestimate Kabon and Graylon and most of all us. He will never expect the piloting we can do and the damage we will deliver.”
I was thankful for her optimism even if sleep was going t
o elude me for the remainder of the night.
It wasn’t long afterward when the bleeting of an alarm simultaneously told us to get to our battle stations and also of our impending arrival at Earth. Cedar and I were racing for the hangar. I knew we’d be fighting, just hadn’t figured it would be the moment we arrived. Fighters launched by the score when we were in proximity to our home. I was dazzled for a second by the blue brilliance of Earth. That quickly changed to dread as I saw the ten or more ships waiting for us. They had their fighters out as well—not as many as we did, thankfully, but they were vastly different from anything we had thus far seen. There was a towering dorsal fin and two sleek, massive wings halfway down the body, forming an inverted V.
“Cedar?” I called over the radio.
“Don’t know.”
As of yet, no shots had been fired. Clearly, it was not Breeson, because he would not have waited this long and given up the element of surprise.
“War ships Arundel, Lyman, and Traverse, I am General Hamilton, or as you may know me, Brigend of the Renaissance. Stand down and prepare to be boarded!”
I wondered what was going on; if these were the Others, we had vastly miscalculated how they would handle the situation. Our fighters were in a large formation called “the tip of the arrow.” We had not moved. The fighters on the other side were in a hodgepodge array that gave no indication of unified command or structure.
“Hold for orders,” Under-Commander Germund, the leader of the fighter squadrons said.
Cedar and I were close enough together that we could see the looks of confusion we mirrored.
“Pirates,” one of the Geno pilots hissed under his breath. “I hate pirates.”
“Steady,” Germund ordered, as one of the pilots, most likely the one that hated pirates, was moving forward, independent of our line. If he started firing—no matter the pirate general’s intentions—we would be in the midst of a dogfight.
“Earth by right is our home. You being here is in direct violation to that fact. We will defend what is ours.” Brigend broadcast.
