by Finn Gray
“Forget about it.”
“What in the hells is that thing?” Marson pointed a trembling finger at the bizarre creature that had tried to bite him. Its head still peeked up out of the foliage, its eyes green and almond-shaped, its nose two slits, its lips full and purple, teeth straight and sharp.
Rory shuddered. “I can’t even imagine.”
“It’s not anything anymore.” Marson raised his rifle and squeezed off a single shot. The bizarre creature exploded in a cloud of green ooze.
“What are you doing?” Rory snapped. “We don’t want to draw attention.”
“It tried to kill me. It needed to be done.” Marson froze. “What’s that?”
Rory heard it too. Something large crashing through the jungle, headed toward them.
“I don’t know, but we need to run.”
Chapter 9
Southgull Island, Hyperion
For the first time in his adult life, Jude Vatcher had no idea what was happening in the world. The vid feeds had been turned off hours ago. The view from the window told him nothing. The complex in which their new flat was located was nestled inside the crater of a long-dormant volcano. From his vantage point, he could make out only a sliver of sky above the greenery-choked inner walls of the volcano. Flashes in the sky told him a battle was raging on an island somewhere to the south, probably not too far away. An important military installation of some sort had been constructed there a century ago, but he knew no more than that. He had no idea how the uprising was progressing, nor did he know the fate of his son.
“Any news?” Magda, his wife, called from the kitchen where she was busy making tea neither of them would drink. As was their habit when they were alone, they spoke in Old Corrisian. One never knew when someone else was listening, so it helped to use a near-dead language, remembered only by the descendants of a few old Corriscan families.
“Not yet.” The admission pained him. He’d been drunk on confidence when the uprising began, eager to change the world. And when the Memnons had brought him and Magda to their new home in this lush tropical island, he’d believed himself special.
Now he was not so sure.
They remained locked inside their new home, allegedly for their own safety. They’d been given no means by which to contact the outside world. Satellites were down and neither their tablets nor their biowatches could connect to the network. Their quarters were luxurious, the food delectable, and they had plenty of amenities available. But the fact remained they were prisoners in paradise.
A sharp, polite knock came at the door. A few seconds later, the door opened. In walked a tall man with pale skin, prematurely white hair, and one intense gray eye. The other eye was a cyber, with an electric blue iris and a black slit at the center. He carried a tablet in his left hand. His right was not a hand at all, but a metallic claw with long, spidery fingers and razor-sharp points at the tips. He smiled at Jude as he entered.
“Apologies for the interruption. My name is Storen. I’m in the legal department. We just need a couple of things from each of you.” He flashed a ghoulish smile.
Jude stepped aside to allow Storen to enter.
“I hope you are finding your flat to your liking,” the Memnon said.
“It’s lovely,” Magda said as she entered the room. “Even better than we hoped.”
“Can you believe a few of your senators used the people’s money to build this luxury complex for themselves and a few of their cronies? They built it as part of the Crab Island project.” Storen inclined his head in the direction of the distant battle Jude had noted earlier. “And thus the taxpayers footed the bill for a politicians’ love nest.” He sat down on the closest chair and activated his tablet.
“What, exactly do you require from us?” Jude asked.
“Just a retinal scan and a thumbprint,” he said brightly. He flipped the tablet around to face Jude. “You first.”
“Wait a moment.” Jude took a step backward. “Why would you possibly need that?”
“We need access to your profile,” Storen replied as if this weren’t the most outrageous words a person could possibly utter.
“That’s out of the question. A person’s profile is… everything. You would essentially become us. We’d have no autonomy.”
“Under the Aquarian Empire, perhaps, but things will operate differently in New Memnon.”
“I don’t understand,” Magda said. “Jude, what does he mean by New Memnon? I thought we were working with them to purge the government of corruption? To replace the corrupt with true believers?”
Jude frowned at his wife. There was a look there he hadn’t seen before. A zeal. Gods! Had Magda actually bought into the Memnon faith?
“We are doing just that,” Storen said smoothly. “But why retain the old governments? Why should our society segregate itself based on whose ancestors won what battle, or which deity someone’s great grandfathers worshipped, when we could all be united by the one true faith?”
“Oh,” Magda said. “I see.” She smiled.
“You were saying something about things being different?” Jude prompted.
“In New Memnon, we will manage your affairs for you. In thanks for your invaluable service, we will see to it that you live in luxury. We’ll see to all your needs. Any enhancements you might want will be free.”
“Oh, that’s nice!” Magda cooed.
“But, my businesses. I’m an important man. An influential man!”
“You’re still those things, but we’re going to see to your businesses for you. Let you reap the rewards of hard work. Now, I’m sorry to be abrupt but I’m a busy man as you can imagine.” He waved his hand in the direction of the window and the battle raging in the distance. “So, if I can please get those scans?”
“No! I won’t do it.”
“Jude,” Magda said pleadingly.
Storen sprang to his feet so quickly that Jude thought the man must also have enhanced legs. He raised his metal hand, pointed a sharp finger close to Jude’s eye.
“Mister Vatcher, I’d love to have a pleasant working relationship with you,” he said in a surprisingly sincere tone. “If you choose that path, we will part friends. I don’t blame you for being concerned. I really don’t. But it’s going to be great. It’ll just be different. You’ll see.” He lowered his hand. “You realize we could just take your eye and your thumb if we wanted. And hey, you’d still have one of each!” He burst out laughing. “I’m kidding. I swear. Now. Can we get this done?” He raised the tablet and smiled as if they were the best of friends.
Jude Vatcher was a brilliant man, and it wasn’t vanity to say so. He was a genius. His mind needed only an instant to see this situation from all possible angles and realize there was absolutely no path which led to him holding on to everything he’d built. But there was a path that left them their lives.
They provided the scans as requested. Storen was cheerful throughout, and promised to invite them over for dinner and drinks once things settled down. The door closed and locked behind him. Jude stared at it for a full five seconds before Magda took him by the arm.
“Jude, we need to talk.”
“For the Gods’ sakes, Magda. You might have been taken in by this lot but I have not.”
“Oh, shut up, Jude. It was an act!” Magda looked disappointed in him.
He frowned. “An act? Why?”
“Because we need them to believe you and I are malleable. Easily influenced.”
Jude nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. We can only make it through this alive if they believe we can be brought over to their cause so completely that we are not only no threat, but could even be assets.”
Magda wrapped her arms around his neck. “Now you’re catching up. They know that you’re a strong man, but one that sees sense. Which means there needs to be an influence in your life who will help you see the value of the Memnon faith.”
“And that would be my true believer wife?”
“I al
ways said you were a genius.” Magda gave him a peck on the lips. “I’ve been laying the groundwork for a while now. I think they’re pretty well convinced I’m already on their side.”
Vatcher actually smiled. “I knew there was a reason I married you!”
“No, you married me because my family needed a reputable front for their dirty operations and you wanted our massive cash flow.”
“The most pragmatic decision I’ve ever made.” He kissed her. “What’s your plan, then?”
“Act naturally. You know, disappointed, but also pliable. You lost your holdings, but you still have me and you want to make me happy.”
He managed a tight smile. “All true. Is that it or is there more?”
“There’s more,” Magda said. “From this moment forward we are looking for a way out of here. We’ll find a ship and we’ll make our way back to Simon. Or die trying.”
Chapter 10
Soria, Hyperion
Rory and Marson turned and dashed up the hill. The soft earth made for slow going, chunks of turf tearing free with each step. Rory felt as if he were in a dream, trying to run in deep sand as peril closed in behind him. That wasn’t too far from the truth. Whatever chased them was coming closer. He wanted to steal a glance over his shoulder, try to catch a glimpse of it, but he knew he needed to keep running until he reached a defensible position.
His foot slipped and he fell to the damp turf. He landed face-down on a mushroom-like plant, purple with silver flecks. It burst, covering his head in foul-smelling ooze.
If that’s poisonous, I’m screwed, he thought. But there was no time to speculate about that. He felt Marson grab him by the collar and haul him to his feet.
“Almost there, Plowboy.”
Rory blinked the gunk from his eyes and saw that they were indeed almost at the top of the hill. He redoubled his efforts and gained the summit in a matter of seconds.
“Find cover and get ready,” he panted. “Don’t fire until we see what we’re up against.” His time as squad leader during their final training exercise seemed to have settled into his psyche. Giving orders felt natural.
Marson nodded and moved away, selecting a spot behind a tree. Rory settled down behind a fallen log and waited. It wasn’t long before they saw what chased them.
It was the size of a bull. It had a long, narrow head and razor-sharp tusks curving up from its snout. Its back and flanks were armored, like a segmented tortoise shell. The whole thing was colored a mottle of gray, brown, and green, making it appear almost invisible against the jungle backdrop.
“What do we do?” Marson asked. “It looks like it would be tough to bring down.”
Rory looked at the creature’s bony head and armored body. He had to agree. It would take a miracle shot, perhaps to the eye, to harm this beast.
“Find the tallest tree and climb it.”
Marson didn’t need to be told twice. He leaped, grabbed hold of the lowest branch of the tree under which he’d taken shelter, and swung himself up. Rory followed behind him, clambering up about ten meters before the beast smashed into the trunk of the tree in which they sheltered.
The tree shuddered under the impact. Rory felt the vibration in his hands and feet. The beast let out a deep bellow. The sound sent a shiver up his spine. Again and again it smashed into the tree.
“I’m going to shoot it,” Marson shouted.
“No! It only came after us because you fired your weapon. Just hang on and it will lose interest and move on.”
“Oh, yeah? When?”
Down below the beast circled the tree, letting out ear-splitting roars. It showed no signs of departing.
“I don’t know,” Rory said, “but shooting it will just piss it off. Guarantee you.”
“What makes you the expert? I think…”
Whatever Marson thought, Rory didn’t find out, because at that moment, the tree came to life. The limb upon which he perched began to writhe. Marson lost his balance and barely managed to save himself by grabbing on.
He need not have worried about falling. The limb coiled around him and squeezed like a constrictor. Marson kicked and squirmed, but his arms were pinned to his sides. His face, normally so pale, was scarlet.
“Help me,” he gasped.
But Rory was fighting his own battle. The branches around him closed in on him, enveloping him like a cocoon. He fought them, kicking and flailing. Leaves flew, twigs snapped, but he couldn’t get free. He was covered in a thick, suffocating blanket of green.
Like probing fingers, twigs jammed into his ears, nostrils, and mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut as they jabbed, trying to blind him. He bit down hard, his mouth filling with a bitter, syrupy goo. He spat out the acrid liquid and bit again. His efforts were to no avail. The bizarre, living tree held him fast. Sharp twigs and rough bark scoured his exposed flesh. His eyes burned, and salty tears streamed down his face, making the cuts and scrapes sting. Even his ears burned. Desperate now, he let out an angry roar and fought harder.
He managed to work one arm loose and began tearing the bonds away from his face, clearing an airway. Through teary eyes he saw Marson, struggling weakly, his face crimson. Rory was having difficulty breathing as well. He knew the way big snakes choked their prey: clamp down on the chest and gradually tighten with each exhale until the prey could no longer breathe. The tree seemed to be doing the same sort of thing, slowly squeezing the life out of its victims.
He grew dizzy, his attempts to break free sluggish. His numb fingers struggled vainly at his bonds. Lights danced before his eyes, his field of vision narrowing. He tasted blood in his mouth and a pleasant scent, like burning sage, filled his nostrils. That was odd.
He blinked his eyes a few times, cleared his field of vision enough to see that tendrils of smoke were curling around him. Was there a fire? Even as he struggled to understand this strange development, the bonds around him weakened. He sucked in a breath and let out a ragged cough that made his head spin. The smoke was thick, but had a strange, almost minty quality to it. Another smoke-filled breath and he found he had the energy to resume his struggle to break free.
Nearby, he saw Marson, unconscious or worse, slide free of the limb that held him, and fall to the ground. Rory looked down to see a man with impossibly long hair and beard attempt to break Marson’s fall. The two of them landed in a heap on the soft earth. Who was he?
Rory had only a second to contemplate this turn of events before he found himself slipping. He grabbed the limb, holding on for all he was worth. Problem was, the struggle to get free hadn’t left him much remaining strength. As if in slow motion, he watched his hands slide free, and then he was falling.
Chapter 11
Battlecruiser Dragonfly
“What in the hells is he talking about?” Lina instantly regretted her brief loss of composure. She couldn’t react to surprises like this. She needed to remain calm. “What does he mean you’ve retired?”
Graves shook his head. “I was considering retirement prior to the uprising. My service felt pointless. I even went so far as to fill out the document, but then the Memnons struck.”
“So you have not resigned your commission?”
“No. We’re at war. This is what I do. I serve the empire in time of conflict.”
“With respect,” Vatcher said, his tone not the least bit respectful, “If Graves wishes to return to active duty, by all means, allow him to do so. But his retirement, albeit a brief one, drops him to the bottom of the queue in the chain of command.”
“What difference does that make?” Laws asked.
“I am merely noting a point of protocol. If we insist on following chain of command, then it is not Commander Graves who is next in line. If we’re going to abandon tradition, which would be fine by me, then my point is moot.”
“I didn’t retire,” Graves said. “I changed my mind.”
“I’m sorry to contradict you,” Vatcher said, “but your paperwork was submitted and it was accepted.”
“That’s impossible. Even if I did hit SEND, how would the admiral have had time to process it? I literally completed the form just as the uprising began.”
“It was not Admiral Cole who accepted your retirement request. It was I. When Her Highness promoted me to admiral, I immediately took up the tasks associated with my new responsibilities.”
On screen, most of the heads were shaking. Lina had had enough. Time to make a power play and hope they accept it.
“Commander Vatcher, you are not the admiral of anything. My sister had no right to appoint you to that position, therefore, any decisions you made during that very brief period are now vacated. Is everyone here clear on that point?”
Scott and Sasaki frowned, but the other commanders, including Vatcher, nodded.
“Are we clear?” Lina repeated.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied. Lina’s heart fluttered. Might this actually work? But before she could continue, Fremantle interrupted.
“The princess is right.”
“Empress,” Lina corrected.
“Apologies, Majesty.” The commander made a small bow and then went on. “Commander Vatcher, the circumstances of your appointment are questionable, and we don’t have the time to properly evaluate that situation. And Graves, this resignation thing is another complication we don’t need right now. I suggest Laws takes command. Unless she’s also got some controversy whirling around her that we don’t know about yet.”
“Nothing I’ll talk about in the daylight,” she said with a smirk. “But very well, if the commander and Her Majesty approve, I will accept the posting for now. Should she wish to revisit this decision at a future time, I welcome it.” She gave a small bow.
Lina was grateful. With just a few words, the officer had affirmed Lina’s position. Commander Laws probably knew from personal experience how difficult it can be for a woman to climb the ranks in a male-dominated organization. It was a small gesture, but significant. For now, Lina would take any victory she could get, no matter how minor.
