Silent Rising

by Kliment Dukovski

smile. He smiled back. I wonder what’s your talent, babe?

  She winked at him.

  Oh, she likes me already.

  “What if that’s exactly what they want us to think, huh?” asked the chameleon. He stood up and walked to the window, turning his back on the rest of the group. “I bet they’re sending us to die.”

  “If they wanted us dead, we’d be dead. Trust me, I know,” said the mover. “I was waiting to have my head chopped off when they made me an offer that helped me keep this beauty for another day.”

  You too, huh? But Ailios didn’t say anything. He first wanted to observe this weird bunch.

  Right next to Ailios from his left sat a thick-necked man with arms bigger than Ailios’s legs; a brute, no doubt about it. Only their kind had such muscles that could smash a Cyon’s head with nothing but a squeeze.

  With a deep gruff voice he asked the mover, “What did you do?”

  “I crashed one of the fleet’s vessels,” the mover replied with a shrug.

  “A pilot, eh?” asked the brute.

  “Gods, no. I’m a civilian, but I tried to help the fleet once. Their ship was starting to lose orbit and it was going to crash on Talam. I had the luck of flying close by, so I grabbed the ship in my thoughts and I tried to steer it away from the planet. But, um, they weren’t going to crash, they were just testing new battle maneuvers and I burned their engines by moving them against their will, so um … yeah, the ship did crash eventually.”

  The brute smiled, showing his teeth, sharp and long like a hunter cat’s. And then he chortled in his deep voice. Ailios couldn’t help but smile as well. It was damn funny to see a big guy chortle like that.

  “What about you, muscles?” asked the mover. “What’s your story?”

  The brute raised his chin high. “I killed my superior officer,” he said. Ailios gulped, and then exchanged glances with the mover.

  The mover asked. “Why did you do that?”

  “He was vexing me.”

  “Vexing you?”

  “He was a coward. He kept our group on a tight leash, if you know what I mean.”

  “He didn’t let you fight, did he?” asked the mover. Ailios had known brutes for a long time, bloodthirsty sons of bitches. They had this uncontrollable hunger for death, and if they couldn’t satisfy it, they would kill some of their own. Something like a natural selection – only the fittest of their tribe survived. And this brute seemed old enough.

  “We were attacking a Cyon encampment in Tarsa. Those cybernetic rats were hiding in the ancient ruins. My superiors thought they were planning sabotage missions against the nearby tribes. So one night we paid them a visit. But the Cyon cowards laid traps all over the place. Nearly half of our force was dead before we even reached their camp. The rest of our men died in battle. That’s when my superior ordered retreat.”

  “And you didn’t like it,” said the mover.

  “We had just reached their encampment, of course I didn’t like it. I hate to think our men died for nothing. I claimed my superior officer’s head first and then smashed every Cyon rat that I could find.”

  “I suppose they didn’t give you any medals for that,” said the mover.

  The brute snorted. “They had me in cryosleep for years. But now, they have awoken the beast,” and his two long teeth shone viciously. After the story his smile wasn’t as appealing as before. Ailios gulped and didn’t smile anymore. I don’t want to mess with that guy, he thought.

  The mover turned toward Ailios. “What about you, cat eyes? Why are you here?”

  Ailios looked at the brute, then at the girl in front, then at the chameleon who was still standing at the window and looking in the distance, before he stopped at the mover. “It’s got to be my hair,” Ailios said and trailed his fingers over that thick black mane of his. The brute and the girl smiled, but the mover didn’t. His ball dropped in his hand and he gripped it.

  “That bush growing on your head is the least appealing, I can assure you. It’s not that.”

  “No?” said Ailios. “Then maybe it’s the muscles.” He flexed his arms.

  “You don’t have any muscles,” said the mover. “You have cat’s eyes so you can see in the dark. You have strong forearms which mean you’re a climber. The way you entered the room was way too quiet for an ordinary man. I’d say you’re a thief.”

  “And I’d say I’m a lover.” Ailios smiled. The mover just stared, ball tight in his grip.

  “We’re all bunch of criminals here,” said the chameleon, turning to face them, “the scum of all tribes. No one cares about us. I am telling you – they’re sending us to die.”

  The mover stared at Ailios for a long moment, and then he let his ball float again. With a finger he turned it round and round. “They told me I’m free to go once the mission is over.”

  “They told me the same,” said the chameleon. “I’m sure they told everyone the exact same story – full pardon and freedom, but I’m telling you, as soon as the mission is over they will kill us.”

  Ailios leaned back on his chair. “You’re too negative, my grayish fellow,” he said.

  “Negative? Didn’t you just hear the brute’s story–?”

  “The name’s Faragar,” said the brute.

  “I apologize, Faragar, but you are too dangerous–”

  “Damn right I am,” Faragar said.

  “Do you think they will let him back into his tribe again? Or look at the mover–”

  “It’s Luthis,” said the mover. “I hate being called the mover. It gives away my abilities.”

  Ailios couldn’t help himself but say, “Hmm, and I thought the ball levitated by itself.”

  Luthis shot him with a glare. “This ball can go right through your skull. By itself.”

  “You see, that’s where my hair comes–” and in that instant, the ball started getting closer toward Ailios’s face. His reflex made him move to the side just a fraction of a second before the ball whooshed by his head and smashed into the wall behind.

  Luthis then smiled. “So you’re fast as well. I wonder how they caught you stealing.”

  And I wonder why you were truly sentenced to die. Ailios was certain that Luthis’s story was a fake one, or maybe tweaked a little, judging by his intent to kill another human being so quickly.

  “Guys, please,” said the chameleon. He took his seat again and leaned closer to the group. “As soon as we have a ship we must make a run for it.”

  “Run?” asked Faragar. “Faragar doesn’t run.”

  “We can leave you somewhere if you like, but trust me, they don’t plan to let us go even after we finish this mission.”

  That’s when the door opened and the same tattooed man in uniform that drafted Ailios entered. He strode toward a circular table in front of everyone and stopped. “Good evening gentlemen, lady. I am Major Ailig, your commanding officer for this mission. You already know why you are here, so I’ll make it quick.” He tapped a button on the table and an image of planet Talam appeared above it. “Five days ago, a group of cybernetically enhanced humans violated one of our sacred temples.” The map zoomed in on a temple close to their current location at the outskirts of the city An Dun. “Twenty-four hours later, their numbers grew by the hundreds.” The last sentence seemed to get everyone’s attention.

  “You mean more of them came,” said Luthis part as a question part as a statement.

  Major Ailig paused for a long moment. “I wish that was the case,” he said. “Unfortunately, their numbers grew inside the temple.”

  “Impossible,” said Luthis, his smile wide with disbelief. “Not a single human has been born in the last thousand years. They must’ve recycled their own DNA, or maybe they have stolen some from our own databanks from the Temple of Sirona. Besides, not even the Cyons have been able to reproduce, so whether they are cyberneticaly enhanced or not, it doesn’t change the fact that they can’t grow their numbers at all, let alone so quickly.”

  “That is a co
ncern we all share, Mr. Luthis. If this sect has found a way to reproduce and grow their numbers exponentially, then that alone could change the outcome of this war. You all know the odds we are facing: five hundred thousand humans against four million Cyons. This upcoming battle will be our last, I assure you. We cannot fight the Cyons and this sect at the same time. However, we can use the sect’s know-how to increase our numbers and once and for all to put an end of the Cyon domination.”

  “Gods, this was worse than I thought,” mumbled the chameleon.

  “First of all, I don’t believe this is true,” said Luthis. “And second of all,” he looked at the chameleon and then back at the major, “why do you send us?”

  “Mr. Luthis, every human that can fight has been drafted in the United Defense Force. Our combined fleet consists of not more than sixty battleships and ninety support vessels. The Cyons have two hundred battleships plus that much support vessels. Feel free to calculate our odds.”

  “Why aren’t we drafted then?” asked Luthis.

  “You are. But not in the UDF.”

  Luthis crossed his arms and leaned back on his chair. “This is ridiculous,” he said.

  “Mr. Luthis, if you have second thoughts, I would gladly return you to your execution.”

  Luthis was quiet thenceforth.

  “Your primary objective is destruction of this sect before they can turn into a greater threat than they already are. Your secondary objective will be to retrieve any information about their ways of reproduction. Now, before we proceed, I would ask you to take out a syringe from the box beside your seats.” Ailios looked to his left then to his right and found the box. It was a small rectangular plastic that opened with a touch on the surface. He took the syringe and tried to examine it.

  Ailios was certain he heard the chameleon whisper, “Poison.”

  “What you hold in your hands is a new addition to your DNA, which will improve–” said the major, but he stopped when a hiss coming from Ailios’s left caught his attention. Faragar had injected himself and he squeezed the empty syringe with two gigantic fingers. The glass cracked under the pressure.

  “What do I do now?” he asked as he swiped his palm over the table to clear the shards. Instead of a vocal answer, he got a grumbling sound coming from his stomach, then moving up toward his mouth. He burped and his skin started to change and become thicker, almost like carapace, and it was pitch black. Faragar stood up, looking even bigger now, and much, much scarier.

  “Please sit down, Mr. Faragar,” said the major.

  “I need blood.” Faragar’s eyes turned into a shade of red. His teeth bared, craving for a bite.

  “Mr. Faragar, if you do not sit, I will send you back to cryosleep.”

  Faragar growled.

  “You will have your blood, I promise you. But not now. Sit, Mr. Faragar.”

  The brute finally obeyed, but his eyes were locked at the major like he was a piece of meat, extra crispy.

  “You now see what the new strand of DNA is,” said Major Ailig. “It gives you a protective layer over your skin. And believe me, you will need it.”

  Ailios, Luthis, and the chameleon injected their syringes, and after the grumble in their stomach and the burp, they had the carapace over their skin. Surprisingly though, only Faragar turned black. The rest of them kept their natural color… well, except for the chameleon whose natural color was a mystery to Ailios.

  When Ailios touched the skin at the back of his hand he could definitely feel the change. It was a thick, rough layer, no doubt about it.

  “After a careful analysis of each of your psychological profiles, we have decided that your team leader will be Mr. Ailios,” said the major.

  Luthis turned sharply, eyes stabbing like daggers, while Ailios stood up, confused. “Me?” he said.

  “Please, Mr. Ailios, step over here.” Ailios obeyed. He stood next to the major, feeling oddly like an exemplar in a museum. “This man has killed five hundred cybernetically