Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one

by Rhett Gervais

  He cursed as the plane shook violently once again, throwing him from his seat to the cold steel deck of the cargo plane. He should have been strapped in, like his prize, but the leather straps always made him uncomfortable. Getting to his feet, he headed to the flight cabin to see what was going on. He danced his way across the length of the aircraft, stumbling along as the plane careened back and forth. He could hear the frame of the aircraft twisting, the straining metal wailing. Opening the door to the cockpit, he found the flight crew in dire straits, the pilot straining against the controls, alert lights screaming for attention.

  “Is everything ok?” asked Arthur. “What’s going on?”

  “The autopilot failed, Arthur...sir, sorry,” said the pilot, his voice trembling. The cockpit stunk of fear. “Half of our systems just went dead, the electric controls for the hydraulics are only partially responding. I’m having a hard time keeping her up...oh god,” the pilot gasped, paling as the cabin went dark, and the plane engines fell deafeningly silent.

  “Where are we?” asked Arthur, trying to remain calm as he felt the plane begin to drop, his stomach sinking. Looking out the window, he tried to find a landmark. The skies were dark, smoke in the distance. He could see swarms of machines descending like locusts, cutting everything in their path. “Our enemy is attacking, like in New York and Boston. Their signal is what killed our systems. Power won’t be coming back any time soon. Can we find a safe spot to land?”

  “D.C., sir. We just passed Andrew’s Air Force Base. Reagan Airport is coming up. We were about to radio the tower about our difficulties, but without the radio, and with the hydraulics dead, I can’t glide or slow our descent. We’re thirty thousand feet and falling like a stone. Terminal velocity. We’ll all be dead in about two and a half minutes unless we can restart the engines, or at the very least get the electrical system working so we can keep the nose up and pray a belly landing works out for us.”

  The desperation in the tiny cabin was palpable. Arthur may be able to survive a crash like this—he wasn’t sure of the extent of his durability since his ascension—but these four men, and the boy unconscious in the cargo area, certainly would not. It would take a miracle. “Move aside; let me try something,” said Arthur, trying to remain calm. Taking the co-pilot’s seat, he placed his hands on the controls. Focusing, Arthur closed his eyes, reaching inside himself...finding whatever it was that made him able to do the things he did. He had done things like this on small systems, computers, locks, drones. Never anything this big. He closed off his senses, steadying his breathing, thoughts collected. He could feel all of himself, the cool air of the cabin caressing his skin. His heart, its steady rhythm beating like a drum in his ear. His blood coursing. Arthur felt like he was falling, descending into a dark, cool ocean at night, bright stars visible up above from the depths of the water, shimmering with its movement. Everything was calm in this place, his core.

  Arthur could hear the pilot, his voice an echo as if he spoke from far away. “Twenty-five thousand feet.”

  He reached outward once again. He knew no other way to describe it, his hands pulling back a dark curtain revealing the mystery hidden from the mundane. When he opened his eyes again, he could see the world as it truly was, all of it, every bend of light, each wave of energy, individual particles of matter vibrating in space and time. This was the strangest part of his ascension, this odd power to see the world as energy and light. The pilot and co-pilot were no longer flesh and bone, but currents of electricity bound by flesh and blood into the shapes of men.

  Outside, beyond the plane, the world was a cascade of light, streams of silver and gold streaking across the sky. The city of Washington was dark when it should have been brighter than an exploding star, a network of chaotic color and sound. Cities usually were. Yet he could see waves of dark energy washing over everything, dampening life and stopping the flow of electricity. A pale, washed-out gray consumed it all, like the color of sadness. The wave danced like a shadow over the plane, stopping the flow of electrons, choking the fuel supply. After many months of practicing, seeing this mirror of reality, Arthur knew that he was seeing signals, wave patterns, data being transmitted over the ether. He knew he could control it, bend the machines to his will, like controlling the strings on a puppet. Turning his power outward, he tried to deflect the dark wave washing over the plane. It was like trying to catch a raging river or hold on to the wind, hopeless. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his brow, his muscles constricting from the effort of trying to protect the plane. Refocusing, he delved into the aircraft’s electronics, touching its core, sending streams of electricity coursing through its arteries, pumping fuel into its iron heart. Nothing.

  “Twenty thousand feet,” came the echo again, raw and hoarse.

  Arthur could feel the veins in his temple throbbing, his whole body vibrating in pain like an exposed nerve.

  “Fourteen thousand feet! We’re crossing the Potomac.”

  In a wild flurry, Arthur reached outward again, the strings of darkness slipping again and again from his fingers, impossible to grasp. He was drenched in sweat, his body a wet, trembling rag, his own stink filling his nostrils.

  The echo came again, softer this time, accepting of the end, ringing of death. “Five thousand feet! Impact in thirty seconds.”

  In a last desperate attempt, Arthur pulled back. He was not sure how else to describe it, but he could see all of the city and beyond. He saw the dark wave as it crested and cascaded. He followed it, chasing it back to its source. He found a dim star, the enemy transmitter high above, like nothing he had ever seen. It looked like an angry boil, anger manifested. He grabbed it roughly in his hands. In his duality of vision he could see the enemy structure, a rough metallic orb that floated with no visible means, aglow with sickly green light, broadcasting its power-dampening signal. He admired it, could see it like a fragile flame, desperate to keep burning. He reached to snuff it out. He could also sense something more, a vague resonance that he couldn’t quite understand, like trying to remember a dream, reaching back to him through the signal. It didn’t matter, he didn’t care; with the last of his strength, he crushed it his palms, snuffing it out, silencing it as if it never was.

  Up above, they could see the fiery explosion, the enemy object transformed into a fireball screeching toward the earth. A smile dawned on his sweat-drenched face as he felt the engines roar to life, blue streaks of electricity coursing in every direction at once, the fiery inferno of burning fuel running into the plane’s metal heart. He could see it all happen, the flow. His body twitched with exhaustion. What had he done? He had never done anything like that before. Since his ascension, he had been good with machines, touching them with his mind, probing data with his thoughts, but never so powerful, feeling the machine. Crushing that object…had been—

  “We’re back! You did it, kid, fuck yeah!” said the pilot. Cheering in relief as the plane leveled off, the flight crew broke Arthur’s reverie. He looked at the four men, his tired gaze threatening. The men visibly paled at his anger. “Sorry, sir,” they said in unison. Arthur gave them a brief nod as he returned to studying the skyline. He could feel the tension drain from them. They were just happy to be alive and meant no disrespect. It was one of the first things the major bishop had taught him. That he was greater than normal men, above them, even if he was still young. He would have to teach the world how to treat him. If he behaved as a child, he would be treated that way; behave as a superior, and that’s how people would treat you. The major bishop felt that people were weak-willed—sheep. The more Arthur learned, the more he agreed. He had no rank, had never served, yet he had power here. They deferred to him, feared him.

  As Arthur studied the skyline of the capital, he could see the remaining swarms of tiny machines coursing with electricity scouring the city exploding in crimson and orange, burning everything they touched. But they could fight back this time. More than just the boys and girls of Divinity Corps, but regular troops.
For once, American technology might be able to turn the tide. By destroying that object, the source of the power disruption, he had given them a chance. “The war has come to Washington,” said Arthur with a cold formality. The major bishop had warned that times were getting desperate. He just hadn’t realized how much. “Send a message to CENTCOM, also contact Divinity Corps, tell Major Bishop O’Connell. Tell them, tell him, to mobilize everything we can,” said Arthur. “We have a chance. Tell him we can fight back. We’re going to save this city!”

  Chapter 20: The Battle of Washington

  May 2076

  Diomoxicin, D as the doctor had called it, was like nothing she had ever felt before. It was heaven wrapped in ecstasy. Her entire body was vibrating like a wailing guitar string, and she had to move, rock out. With a smile, she closed her eyes and began to sway her hips, bouncing along to the idea of a song in her head. Gwen fished earbuds from her pocket, and finding her favorite playlist on her smart device, she pumped the volume to maximum and raised her arms above her head, spinning in a circle, she vibed to the house beats of her favorite, old-school K-pop mix, free and alive. It was intoxicating. Swaying to the rhythm, she could hear a vague shouting, like a buzzing bee in her ear, a presence beside her, a hand laid gently on her arm. She opened her eyes to find Arthur in front of her. He had a soft glow around him like the night they had met so long ago, flecks of amber in his liquid-brown eyes beautiful like the sun at twilight. He was beautiful; he was always beautiful, until he talked. Luck would have it that she couldn’t hear a word he was saying, the music in her ears drowning out whatever boring or serious thing he was babbling on about. One day she would teach him to have fun.

  Arthur’s touch and the pungent smell of jet fuel brought her back to reality for a moment. They were standing in between their respective transport planes. The major bishop had ordered her to meet Arthur in Washington D.C. at Andrews Air Force Base, and the hanger they were in was usually reserved for the arrival of important people—presidents, dignitaries, and other assholes who messed up the world. They were waiting for the major bishop and the new members of Divinity Corps recently cleared for duty, Gabriel and Komiko, having gone ahead to fight the bad guys. It had been almost an hour and she was bored, so she had taken a small sample of D to make the time pass a little quicker. Arthur’s pretty face was strangely contorted as he pointed to her ears, mouthing, screaming. She simply shrugged and danced on, pretending not to hear. She pranced around him while he flapped his arms like an angry bird. With a laugh, she began twirling an invisible lasso over his head, going “Gangnam Style” and ignoring him. She could see his rage as she danced, spittle flying from his face. She didn’t care. He was becoming too full of himself and making him angry like this was fun!

  Gwen could see his patience had come to an end. He reached for the smart device in her hand and she balked. “No, no, no,” she mouthed with a smile, wagging her finger at him. With a sudden surge, he reached out to grab her, and she leapt back, and found herself high in the rafters of the hangar, confused as to what she was suddenly doing there. She looked down in awe to see tiny Arthur, his mouth agape, pointing at her. Suddenly sober, it took her a moment to realize she wasn’t standing on anything. She was simply floating free. With a loud squeak, she fell like Wile E. Coyote. Coming to the realization that there was nothing beneath her, panic welled in her. The only thing missing was a puff of smoke. She crashed to the earth in a cloud of dust, coughing and sputtering.

  “How did you do that!” asked Arthur, racing to her side, helping her to her feet, anger forgotten. His eyes were wide as she returned her earbuds to her pocket, feeling very sober suddenly.

  Gwen looked down at herself, a smile growing on her face. “I’m not sure, but it was awesome. I want to do that again, maybe without the falling on my ass this time,” she said, pushing him aside and jumping in a circle.

  “Maybe we should wait,” said Arthur, serious as always, “take the time to figure things out.”

  Gwen did not want to “take the time to figure things out.” She could still feel herself vibrating, the need to move like an itch that had to be scratched, a door that she couldn’t leave closed. Was it the drug? Thinking back, she closed her eyes, feeling, imagining Arthur’s hands reaching for her, her annoyance at him, wanting to be away from him. She felt a rush of movement, the vertigo of displacement, air being driven from her lungs, the sudden coolness of open sky. Opening her eyes, she found herself high above the airfield, floating in the clouds. Looking to the horizon, she could see the curvature of the earth and the black threshold of space. Below, the city of Washington, the Potomac on one side, the Anacostia on the other. Her heart vaulted from her chest, lodging into her throat, her breathing short at the realization of how high she was, her entire body shaking in terror. There was nothing, no handhold, no perch, no safe spot to cower. She plummeted, tumbling head over heels. She screamed forever, her breath running out before she sucked in another lungful and began screaming again.

  Tamping down her panic, she closed her eyes. The ground raced toward her, wind screaming in her ears. She could do this, or at least thought she could. Gwen imagined herself away from the ground, hurtling to the stars as she had with Arthur present. Nothing. She opened her eyes to find the ground closer, approaching faster than she could imagine. She could see small details now, people, lights, and cars. She had no clue if she could survive a fall from this height and didn’t want to find out. Looking away to distract herself, she focused on the receding clouds, high above, so peaceful. One almost looked like a scowling major bishop, and there, another looking like Amon and Uriel locked together. With a lurch and sudden rush, she found herself hurtling upward like a bolt of lightning returning to the heavens after striking the earth.

  Understanding blossomed in her mind. She had it now. It was all about where she wanted to be, sort of like walking. She didn’t have to focus on each individual step—she just had to walk. Taking a calming breath, she drifted along, marveling at this thing she could do. The less she thought about it the easier it was. Her flight was a part of who she was, a natural function like breathing. At this height, the thin air was cool and crisp, a contrast to the warm sun. She felt detached from it all, the world below like a distant old memory. Gwen began experimenting, diving and spinning, racing up and down the airfield testing how fast she could go, chasing the horizon. It was exhilarating. A thought ran through her mind, her lips turning up into a giant smile. She slipped her earbuds back on, searching her playlists until she found something mellow, and lay back, simply drifting, enjoying the moment. She could go anywhere now, in this instant. No one could stop her. She could vanish without a trace to some tropical paradise. Live on the beach, drink real piña coladas and not that rotgut they sold here. Get high every day, maybe find a cute boyfriend. It could be awesome…

  “Fuck,” she whispered, her chill mood suddenly fading. It was a nice fantasy, but she would be bored within a week, she knew. The major bishop was an asshole, a miserable old pervert, but he kept his word, always. Growing up with her lying bitch of a mother, she learned to value adults who kept their word. It was a rare thing. He had given her the life he had promised her, wealth, power, respect. She wanted for nothing. She would not be a piece of shit who broke their contract. She would finish this war for him, as promised. Then she would be free to find something more interesting to do.

  Stretching like a cat, she rolled over to look out over the smoke-filled capital. From this height, it all looked like some old-timey silent film, no screams or sirens, the destruction of war on mute. The city was blanketed with swarms of drones casting their deadly shadow over the Capitol building. Around the White House Gabriel had formed a giant blue barrier, using it to deflect an onslaught of artillery shells launched from enemy drone tanks that lined Pennsylvania Avenue. He and Komiko were protecting the president and the cardinals, but she could see they were no longer attacking back, faltering from the onslaught. She would start there.

&n
bsp; Returning to her smart device, she searched for something that would fit the moment, an anthem to destruction. She found an old song that her mother had loved. The old hag was a bitch, but she did have good taste in music. Blasting the sound to maximum, she closed her eyes, bobbing her head slowly as the powerful chords of Angus Young’s guitar danced in her ears, her body vibrating along with the blindingly fast crescendo of the rhythm, then a single word shouted in defiance accompanied in time by the deep pounding of a bass drum: “Thunder!” the crowd cheering in unison, repeated again and again, “Thunder!”—more powerful with each incantation—the guitar faster and faster, feet stomping, voices screaming, “THUNDER!” Gwen hurled herself from the heavens like she was hurled by Zeus himself, faster than the eye could see, the very air booming in her wake. She aimed herself like a missile, an invincible instrument. With a great crash she tore through the lead tank as if it were papier-mâché, a great hulking metal monster bristling with weapons, promising death, broken and burning in an instant. She hardly slowed.

  The doctors and reverends had been unable to determine her capabilities and could only guess at the upper limits of what she could do. They had never had anyone like her in the corps, not to mention she often held back, not wanting to hurt anyone. Today was different. She would see what was possible, no hesitation or mercy. She waded through, blitzing from tank to tank, tearing steel and iron with her bare hands, pounding metal into scrap, throwing the entire tank unit into confusion and disarray up and down Pennsylvania Avenue. Gwen grunted, her momentum slowed. Behind her, one of the tanks had opened fire, round after round of heavy machine-gun fire dancing along her back. Turning, she unconsciously raised a hand to protect her face and marveled at the bullets deflecting off her palm. Irritated, she charged ahead, grasping the tank by its main cannon, spinning the behemoth in a wide circle. With a primal scream, she released it, a satisfied smile on her face as it hurtled toward the heavens, vanishing from sight. With a curse, she found herself thrown once, twice, disoriented as shell after shell exploded on her skin. The tanks had stopped shooting at the barrier, focusing instead on her. Clearly she was the real threat. “Motherfuckers!” said Gwen. Looking down at herself, she found herself exposed, breasts out. Her outfit was in tatters, exposing her pale skin and petite form.