The Enemy mind-essence surged through her thoughts, and Magdalene writhed in that pain and terror. She spun her weapons nacelles toward the threat, but felt her energy draining as she was pulled ever closer to the surface. How could there be so many in this When?
(lifeboats please respond! don’t land! get out of the system!)
The Enemy grasped with its essence, snaring three of the four lifeboats. It pulled the tiny vessels intimately close and began to absorb them into itself. Magdalene’s heart ached as she saw one of the vessels self-destruct in an attempt to save the others, but to no avail. As the web beam swept around to trap the last lifeboat, Magdalene deftly maneuvered between the pod and the Enemy, snapping the connection.
The lifeboat, trapped in the wake of Magdalene’s gambit, plummeted helplessly through the atmosphere, still drained from the effects of the essence. A line of fire formed behind it as gravity’s hold became stronger and friction caused the hull to ionize.
Magdalene watched the lifeboat escape as she hung motionless in her lifeless prison. She prayed for their safety.
The Enemy was furious. Its companion destroyed, the lifeboat lost…
DIE THEN, JUDAS. YOUR VIRUS WILL BE PURGED FROM OMEGA SOON ENOUGH.
It lashed out at the Judas Magdalene, and the sky became fire.
Mortally wounded, powerless, she fell to earth.
The Enemy, satisfied with the kill, set about the Purpose once more.
In the black within the blackness, voices appeared.
OBJECTIVE ONE ENGAGED, DISPATCHED.
a flicker of broken images, madness within electronic void
A CERTAINTY((?))
THE JUDAS FELL TO ITS DEATH.
SHADOW DRIVE((?))
LOST.
SURVIVORS((?))
TWO LIFEBOATS WEBBED, ENCOMPASSED. ONE LOST BEFORE PATTERN INSERTION..
THE FOURTH…
FOURTH VESSEL CONTACT LOST, PRESUMED PLANET IMPACT.
A SUPPOSITION. A MISTAKE. THE COST IS LIFE.
I OBEY. MAY MY DESCENDANTS BETTER SERVE YOU.
A flash of non-existence. A shriek of pain and pleasure. Shards of insanity beckon.
RECOUP. JUNCTURE IN THE BELT. THE BATTLE IS AS YET A DRAW. THE PURPOSE WILL BE OURS. THE PURPOSE WILL BE COMPLETED.
A smile? The blackness closes in upon itself.
“We’re losing it!”
Reynald struggled to regain control of the lifeboat as it fell out of the sky to the planet below.
“Captain, navigation is gone!”
Plunging from the night, the lifeboat left a trail of white behind it. Reynald saw the blackened earth below them, spangled with clusters of city lights.
“Impact trajectory?”
“A lake in one of the northern continents—”
“Well, at least it’s better than land. How long?”
“Two minutes.”
The cities below them drew closer. Reynald saw a glint of water on the horizon. Closer and closer…
“Brace for impact. Shields at maximum.”
They went down.
Half a world away, debris from the Enemy that had been destroyed above the planet cut through the atmosphere at a phenomenal rate. A shard of the vessel half a mile long fell from the sky and struck the small atoll of Santa Fosca in the Pacific with a force greater than any weapon ever made by man could have achieved. The inhabitants of Santa Fosca felt no pain.
Pulled down in the phase wake, Magdalene glided over the atoll as the Enemy wreckage struck. She was blinded by the impact, and she felt herself rocked by the waves of pattern energy released from the crash. Traveling at many times the speed of sound, she could not maintain control of the Judas at such depleted energy levels. The sleek form of the vessel flew over the sun-dappled waves, leaving a fury of torrents in her wake.
Finally, she could hold it no longer. The tips of her nacelles dipped into the water first, sending the rest of the vessel into a violent somersault. End over end, she slammed across the surface of the ocean, each impact stressing her hull more and more. Magdalene tried to shift to minimize the damage to herself, but her residual Shadow energy was gone; when she had ejected the phase drive, she had also forfeited any hope of controlling the Judas vessel. Her form eventually skidded across the surface until her entire right nacelle was pulled under. The drag slowed her down, and she began to sink.
Magdalene plummeted into the ocean. Waves swept outward from her impact.
On the horizon, a pyre marked Santa Fosca. Soon, the natives would investigate. The sky was fire and the ocean an expanse of boiling sapphire. The impact would kill many.
She floated down, down. So far down.
Magdalene came to rest near her pre-determined landing zone, a trench in the largest ocean, many tens of thousands of feet deep.
She would be safe there.
She hoped.
Wind River, D.C.
Annoyance. The alarm clock, already? No, the blaring sound was the communications link. He sleepily sat up in bed, hand motion activating the lights. A quick tap to the right temple opened the interior comm channel.
“Hmmph. Yeah. What? Are you—I’ll be right there.” Another tap cut the link.
He had a bad feeling about this.
David Jennings was far from being the greatest of American presidents, but he had dealt with his share of catastrophes. More than his share, in fact, and he had a terrible feeling about this.
Santa Fosca. Gone.
He felt a headache beginning.
A sensible bathrobe concealing his sensible pajamas, he opened the double-door to his quarters. Two heavily-armed Milicom officers stood silently at attention, saluted, transported him down hallway, down elevator, down hallway to the Red Room.
Jennings wiped sleep from his eyes as he waited for voice- and thumb-print identification. The large shield doors cycled open to reveal the Red Room, the White House tactical center. Within, several high-ranking Pentagon officials pored over maps and faxes. The holographic display in the center of the room projected a globe, a flashing red dot in the Pacific…
Two forty-five in the morning. It showed on their faces.
“Mr. President.” A gruff voice. Jennings looked up at its source. General Cervera. Great. Grand. Wonderful.
“Cervera.” Jennings glared civilly at his Secretary of War and Defense. “What’s the situation?”
“At approximately 0130 hours EST our territory of Santa Fosca was encompassed by an apparent thermonuclear explosion. Well, some kind of explosion. Satellite photos revealed complete surface destruction of the atoll.”
The hologram magnified the flashing red area until it was visible as a string of small islands. The image was obscured by thick smoke.
“How can you tell? The cover is so thick—”
“It’s closed in since we first got word from Satcom.”
“Can’t we get any closer?”
“Sorry, Mr. President. We have to wait for another satellite to line up; we have three closing on the area for triangulation. The cover is too much for this angle.”
“Has anyone claimed responsibility?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“I want our operatives to report in. Any troop movements lately, especially our neighbors?” His thumb pointed behind his back in a direction that may or may not have actually been north.
“No, sir. Our suppression forces have reported nothing to the north, and nothing overseas. The resistance has been quiet for quite some time.”
Too quiet, Jennings thought, but did not verbalize for the obviously cliché sentiment of the statement. Jennings paced, staring at and through the foggy image of that damned island…
“Any word from.. them?”
“Sir?”
“The Styx, General. Any word from the Styx?”
“No, sir. I doubt even they could have survived this.”
Jennings rubbed his temple, closed his eyes.
A dull ache formed behind his eyes as he thought of the Styx project. There were still so many unanswered questions, so many mysteries behind the whole why and how of the debacle. If only they hadn’t tampered with the thing in the mountain… Oh well. There was no turning back. The remnants of the Styx project had been placed on Santa Fosca for everyone’s own good. The project had been a failure and the remaining specimens had been isolated on the tiny atoll.
Bad feeling…
“There’s more.”
A second flashing dot appeared as Cervera returned the projector to global setting.
“What the hell is that?”
“At 0135 hours, a tidal wave was formed five hundred miles from the Santa Fosca impact site. Waves washed over what was left of Guam. We don’t yet have a death toll, but we’re expecting the figures to be pretty high.”
“The wave covered Guam? That would mean—”
“We’ve lost contact with most of our Pacific bases. There’s casualties in the Pact zone as well. This was a big blast.”
“What could have caused an explosion like that?”
“The source of the wave is still unknown.”
“Could someone be testing out there without our knowledge?”
Cervera didn’t answer, but adjusted the projector once more. A third red dot appeared on the other side of the globe.
Close. Much too close.
“Lake Superior? Cervera, what’s going on?”
“At 0145 hours, a smaller impact wave was detected within Lake Superior by a Containment Line vessel, the Indomitable. Apparently something came down with enough force to sink another one of our Line ships, the Freeman Teller.”
“Did the Teller have visual contact?”
“No, sir. They reported a complete systems blackout before and after the impact. Whatever came down came in fast and close. It almost hit the Teller.”
“Three impacts within fifteen minutes. How fast can we have teams at the sites?”
“We’ve sent seven ships to Santa Fosca, and we’ve ordered the Third Pacific Fleet to Guam to assist in recovery operations.”
“And Lake Superior?”
“The Indomitable is investigating the impact site.”
“I want five other vessels taken from the Containment Line and sent to that site. We have to know more.”
“Yes, sir. At the Guam site, we’ve called in remote subs and a destroyer from the Atlantis settlement to investigate. The Mariana Trench is the deepest trench in the whole Pacific. We’ll try to gain visual contact with whatever came down, unless it was a bomb.”
Jennings pondered that statement. Unless it was a bomb…
“We need to know what we’re dealing with. I want everyone on this, stat. But keep it quiet. We need to know if we’re talking meteors or atomics or…” He drifted off. “Something else.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Contact Satcom. Level three online alert.”
“Yes, sir.”
It would be a long night.
Bad, bad feeling…
the black
OBJECTIVE ONE: DISPATCH SUCCESS QUESTIONABLE.
REPORT.
SUSPECTED LIFEBOAT SURVIVAL.
A SUPPOSITION((?))
PROBABLE SURFACE IMPACT, CREW SURVIVAL.
THEY WILL FALL WITH THE REST.
THEY WILL. PROGRESS((?))
BELT DEPLETION NINETY PERCENT.
DEPARTURE SOON. PLANET HARVEST FOLLOWS((?))
PLANET HARVEST FOLLOWS. UPLOAD FOLLOWS.
joy in the black of hell
AUGMENTATION OF PURPOSE PATTERNS FOLLOWS. SOON.
PURPOSE WILL BE COMPLETED.
COMPLETION IS THE PURPOSE.
knowledge of ancient honor. pleasure
QUERY. ONE BELT REMNANT, ONE BACKWARD((?))
insight
REMAIN THEN. COMPLETE HARVEST. WE DEPART.
GO THEN. WE WILL JOIN IN THE PURPOSE SOON.
PURPOSE BE.
the darkness within the void parts
one remains. one fades into distant memory
Panic.
Water flooded the lifeboat.
They blew the hatch, and everywhere there was water.
Reynald activated the auto-delete sequence as he gasped his last breath of air before climbing out of the lifeboat. The water was stifling, frigid. They swam up into the moonlight.
In the night air, eight men released their burning lungs and inhaled for seemingly the first time. Most of the young men had never before tasted real air. They were born anew in a world of black and cold.
Lights to one side: the darkened shoreline.
They swam.
Magdalene:
She slept but did not sleep. She felt the ocean around her, the suffocating press of the depths. When had she last felt water, really truly felt water? Memories of too-cold-to-actually-be-enjoyable dips in the North Channel.
So tired.
Thoughts. Flashes in the black ocean of her mind.
She snapped out of her daze. Kilbourne—the Fleet must be alerted, at least those remnants that hadn’t been swayed. Simon must be warned of the plan.
Under her careful and gentle watch, she initiated a quantum singularity, just large enough to slip a communications beacon into the void.
(compressed beam communication relay initiated. tight beam when hole search initiated.)
A pause. A glimmer of hope.
(relay reports tight beam when hole site identification positive. whenstream beacon placed.)
A frown.
She saw, she felt them. So many screams, so many souls.
(when hole collapse initiated. tight beam communiqué to upwhen, as follows:)
A particle of matter is shifted into non-existence. It bears a message into the past, present, future.
(judas clearance gethsemane magdalene emergency relay: enemy forces on alpha-direct transit. request assistance from any available judas. purpose nears completion.
(the purpose must be prevented. from all whens, converge.)
Exhausted, Magdalene slept.
black
A BEACON. A SIGNAL. PURSUIT FOLLOWS.
A BEACON((?)) THE JUDAS LIVES.
ACTION((?))
A RUSE; A TRAP.
a smile in hell
THEY BELIEVE THE PURPOSE IS COMPLETED.
PURPOSE PATTERN SACRIFICE, AUGMENTATION.
initiative. flicker of a higher purpose
INITIATE HARVEST UPLOAD, JUDAS SEARCH.
THIS MAGDALENE WILL SERVE US…THE CONTAGION OF HER COMRADES WILL COME TO HER AID. WHEN THEY DO—
THEY WILL BECOME ONE WITH THE PURPOSE.
the darkness parts.
Harkness, Michigan.
Located on the Keweenaw Peninsula. Population 1,250. Major industry: commercial fishing.
Harkness was a quiet town. Little crime. The people were honest and God-fearing. The most exciting event in Harkness was the Saturday night bingo and dance at the American Legion downtown.
Harkness was a peaceful town, one of those backward holdovers from an era and a way of life that died long before the wars of the third millennium. It was indeed a happy town.
1:45 A.M.
Buddy McClure was the town drunk of Harkness, and as always, Buddy was piss-drunk and loving it. He left the dance at about midnight and went to Smitty’s Bar for a couple of cold ones. A couple of cold ones turned into twelve beers and a dangerously nondescript mixed drink someone had left on the bar. Buddy was on top of the world and riding it like the bucking bronco he had sometimes hoped it would be in those naïve and energetic days before he discovered the companionship of booze and smokes and dangerous women. Well, truthfully there had been a lot more booze than smokes, and statistically speaking an amazing dearth of dangerous women in Buddy’s life, with the notable exception of that cheating bitch he had knocked up in high school and knocked around so much during the course of their three-month marriage that she left him for Buddy’s best friend, and that shrew he lived with now who day by day sucked more of Buddy’s life-energy from his soul.
Buddy now stood on the rocky beach, feeling the cool night air come in off the lake. The moon was in the ice-clear sky, creeping back down from Tuesday’s full moon. Buddy had spent Tuesday night here on the beach staring down that devil moon in much the same state as he was this fine evening.
Smitty had taken his keys, so Buddy had decided to walk down to the beach. He stopped in the parking lot to take the spare bottle of Jim Beam from the back of his ancient pickup truck. Jim was always a good friend to have along with you when you took drunken walks on the beach at one-thirty in the morning.
It was a quarter to two when Buddy found that his good friend Jim had up and left him. He took up a pitcher’s stance and threw the empty bottle into the air. He had been three-time All-County pitcher back in the adolescent days of locker rooms smelling of sweat and back seats smelling of cheerleaders smelling of Buddy. His picture still graced the trophy case of Harkness High School. Made it all the way to the state finals back in ’28, only to be soundly defeated by Marquette. Steroid-pushing fucking queers. What a bunch of assholes. Twenty-two years, five jobs, two wives, and three brats later, Buddy found that he still had that glorious pitching arm.
The bottle flew up into the night air and for a brief moment it was a silhouette over the face of the moon. He heard the bottle splash in the lake, a hollow, dead sound that always raised the gooseflesh of his forearms.
Looking out onto the lake, Buddy saw the blinking lights of a boat. It was much too big to be one of Harkness’s fishermen pulling a late night. This vessel was a monster, and the spotlights emanating from the deck, sweeping out across the lake, revealed the massive deck-mounted artillery. It was definitely one of the Containment Line.
Something caught his eye: a shooting star.
A smile lit Buddy’s face. The arc of light across the black sky flew across the face of the moon.
Buddy’s smile faltered. Shooting stars are not triangular.
A visceral and sensual flood of memory engulfed Buddy as he remembered high school geometry class, Miss Banks interrogating young rough Buddy on the difference between an isosceles and an equilateral triangle.
I don’t know.
But you’ll have to know for the test, Buddy.
Who cares? When will I ever need to know about triangles out on the fucking docks? When will I ever need any of this?
He blinked and Miss Banks, the unfortunate mixture of teacher, disciplinarian, and creator of countless pubescent schoolboy mid-class erections was gone, replaced by a burning light in the sky, painful to look at directly.
He followed the path of the shooting star. Didn’t meteors usually blink out after a second or two? This one looked like—
It was going to hit the lake.
Buddy staggered and fell backwards as the sky became fire and a sickening heat. It was going to hit the boat, he was sure of it.
Buddy screamed at the impact.
A massive plume of water erupted from the lake.
The lights on the boat began to furiously bob up and down. The vessel struggled to maintain horizontal, and it scarcely avoided rolling over completely. Good lord, Buddy thought. Think of the wave that’ll make.
Seconds later, Buddy was encompassed in the twenty-foot wall of water that washed the beach. The shockwave and concussion knocked him against the ground, and cold bitter water flooded his open mouth and stole his breath. Flailed around like a rag, Buddy was pulled back into the lake as the water receded. He fought to right himself, his lungs on fire and his world becoming sheer frigid black.
Buddy McClure’s neck was broken against the rocks in an inaudible snap as he joined his old friend Jim Beam on the lakebed.
“Report!”
“Horizontal maintained, stress breaches belowdecks. We have men in the water.”
“What in the name of Sweet Mother Mary was that?”
“We don’t know, sir. Complete radar failure, and we’re running on reserve power. We’re trying to contact—”
“We’re taking on too much water. We can’t—”
“Get Fleet on the com. Someone has to find out what the hell that was, and we’re going to be a little too busy saving our own asses in a few minutes to give a rat’s ass. Call in the nearest Line vessel.”
“Fleet is sending the Indomitable, sir.”
“They’re twenty fucking miles away! Tell Fleet to lock in the line and we’ll launch our lifecraft. The Indomitable better haul ass.”
“Yes, sir.”
a white place, out of time.
the judas persevered.
waging a war out of time and space, they chased the enemy, dying to prevent the damnable purpose.
within the white place, a distress signal was found.
[commander? a beacon from judas gethsemane magdalene. priority channel.]
“What’s she say?”
[enemy sighted and tracked on direct alpha purpose transit. the purpose nears completion.]
“Harvest?”
hatred. knowledge of past failures.
[they’re apparently ready to synthesize the upload generators.]
contemplation. realization.
“Open channel to Judas Simon.”
[done.]
((hannah?))
“Simon, we’ve identified and tracked Enemy vessels on a direct-Alpha run. Is your fleet prepared for combat?”
((we’re at 90%, but no one’s been able to find maggie—))
“She’s already there. We sent her on a recon run in Fourteen-seven. She found a nest, and they’re ready to complete their mission.”
((fourteen-seven? that’s five thousand years earlier than we—))
“Take your fleet and intercept the Enemy before they can make it to the Alpha Point. Find them in transit and destroy them. It will buy us a little more time to gather our other forces for the final assault.”
((and magdalene?))
Indeed. And Magdalene..?
“She’s been wounded. Her beacon was very weak. It wouldn’t be a good idea to—”
((wounded? how seriously is she hurt? can she make it back?))
“Simon, we don’t have time for this.”
((i’ll make the time for it, hannah.))
“Fine. Go get her, but be careful. We don’t know how many Enemy that When holds.”
((yes, commander.))
“Then it’s set. Engage Shadow drives.”
Within the white place, she watched as Simon’s forces faded from existence.
So Magdalene is still alive…That will have to be remedied.
“And there she goes.”
The ASCL Freeman Teller drifted with increasing speed beneath the surface of the lake. The lifecraft stood by and watched as their mothership went vertical and slid into the depths. Spotlights swept the area, and the small vessels surveyed the dark waters for overboard seamen.
“How many?”
“Still over thirty men unaccounted for, sir. Tracking chips aren’t responding.”
“Keep looking. How far away is the Indomitable?”
“Closing quickly. That’s her to the northeast.”
Across the expanse of the lake, they observed a fast-approaching vessel. It was the same model as the Teller, one of the Containment Line. The Indomitable cruised quickly and quietly up to the impact zone, and flooded the area with light. The deck guns swept back and forth in readiness.
The Indomitable would find and destroy whatever had sunk the Teller.
Harkness. 2:30 A.M.
The eight dark figures that emerged from the lake surfaced half a mile down the beach from where Buddy McClure’s broken body lay. They were cold, wet, exhausted, and confused, now trapped on a world that was thousands of years younger than the worlds they had known.
In silence, they faced the lake as Reynald activated a small control panel on his forearm. A bright flash came from within the lake as a miniature quantum singularity engulfed the lifeboat.
At first, it appeared that nothing had happened. The vessel that had come to the aid of the sunken ship was still visible out there, but then, for an impossible instant, the very surface of the lake seemed to bulge outward and contract back in. With an ear-splitting roar, the explosion rose to the surface, incinerating the Indomitable and the lifecraft of the Freeman Teller almost immediately. There was little debris, and even that was quickly pulled under. The surface of the lake returned to its original placid state.
The men turned from the lake and began to walk.
“We’ll scan for Magdalene.” Reynald did not sound hopeful. “I saw her come down behind us. She can’t be that far away.”
“Do you think anyone saw us come down?”
“I don’t know, but someone is bound to be suspicious when that boat doesn’t report in. Let’s get as far away as possible.”
They slid into the night.
“Has the Containment Line reported anything?”
“Nothing, sir. We have five vessels closing on the site.”
“How could something have slipped through the Line?”
“Mr. President, we haven’t ruled out a mechanical failure. It could just be —”
Jennings slammed his fist to the table, covered with satellite reports and faxes. “Two of our ships are gone, Cervera. That’s over three hundred of our sailors. This isn’t an accident. Someone is attacking us.”
“But—”
“No buts. I want that area secured. Tell the Harkness Chickenshit Rescue Squad to pull back from the site. Have the Line close in. I want the whole damned county sealed off. No one gets into or out of Harkness, Michigan. That site has to be secure.”
“Mr. President—”
“Cervera, would you like me to relieve you of duty? God knows I’ve wanted to for years. Don’t give me a reason to now, Tony, when I need your cooperation the most. Someone’s trying to start a goddamned war out there. Secure the area.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jennings stood in front of the globe projection.
“This is getting too damned out of hand.”
Cervera glared coldly at the president.
“Yes. Sir.”
Magdalene:
She felt the Shadow tech sweep over her, and despaired as she calculated the distance to Reynald. The last survivors of her crew had crashed half a world away.
She activated a homing beacon.
A silent alarm. A dull thudding pain. Waning energy.
Magdalene retreated to the black of sleep.
Reynald sighed.
The homing beacon was so far away, so faint. It was also emitting an erratic pulse, quiet and full of static. Magdalene had been badly damaged in her landing, apparently.
“Maggie’s on the other side of the planet. We’ll have to find a way to get to her, and quickly. She’s fading fast.”
He watched hope drop from the faces of his troops.
“We have to get off this rock before it’s too late.”
the black: a heap of shattered images
RUSE INITIATED. THE PREY IS ANTICIPATED.
a smile from a mouth without substance
THE ANNOYANCE WILL BE DESTROYED.
THE PURPOSE WILL BE COMPLETED.
THE JUDAS ENSUE((?))
THEY FALL TO THEIR END. THEY FALL TO THE BLACK.
pleasure. hope of pain
HARVEST WILL FOLLOW RUSE. UPLOAD WILL ENHANCE THE PATTERN.
SOON THE PATTERN WILL BE COMPLETE. THE PURPOSE WILL BE COMPLETED.
COMPLETION IS THE PURPOSE.
the black closes.
Harkness. 3:30 A.M.
The dance was winding down. Billy Joe and the Lone Stars were packing up, and the only music left was being piped from an ancient Wurlitzer jukebox: country and western. A few couples still slow-danced out on the floor to a decrepit Kenny Rogers ballad.
Ray Shore went from table to table picking up the beer bottles and emptying the ashtrays into a wastebasket, as his father and his father’s father had done before him. He hummed along to the song, as his father and his father’s father had done before him. Kenny Rogers was truly timeless.
He heard the main door open, but he paid no attention to it. Just another couple going off to do whatever drunk couples do on Saturday nights.
He felt a shadow fall over him.
A large man faced him. He was very tall, dressed in a tight black material that revealed the outline of hard muscle and a black overcoat that draped to the floor.
He had the most striking gray eyes Ray had ever seen.
Ray’s heart thudded in his throat as he stared into those eyes.
“Help you, mister?”
The couples on the dance floor had taken notice of the man in black. Their movements faltered, stopped. Kenny Rogers persisted on the jukebox, but no one was listening anymore.
The man spoke. “I need directions to the nearest…” He considered. “Airport.”
Ray let a smile play across his face. “You joking, mister?”
The man looked at him silently.
The main door opened again. Two more men came in, dressed in the same black uniform as the first. One was young, maybe seventeen or eighteen, about the age of Ray’s son, who would someday take over the bar. The other was middle-aged, bald, scarred. There was an odd tattoo on his left temple. It looked to Ray like the marking on the bottom of cereal boxes. A bar code.
They all had the same eyes.
Ray swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Depends where you want to get to. The Hancock Civic Airstrip is closest, but it only runs local flights. There’s the Marquette Airport, and the Sawyer Air Force Base—”
“Air Force Base?” The middle-aged man’s eyes flickered.
“Yeah, but it’s closed to us civvies, especially since the wars and all. Mostly they use it to fly in supplies for the Containment Line. Some people say they have B-4s stored there…Say, are you guys Feds? I mean, all dressed up like secret undercover agents and stuff…”
The man in black grinned. “Hardly.”
Ray felt terror grip him. “You’re Styx, aren’t you?”
Confusion. “What?”
“You guys are some of those Styxies who escaped, right? Mister, I promise I won’t tell no one about this. You’re secret’s safe with me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
One of the men in the doorway tapped his wrist.
The man in black looked Ray in the eyes. “You’re going to take us to this air force base. Sawyer.”
“Now listen, I—“
“Bring him.”
The two younger strangers grappled with Ray and led him out the door, to the disbelief of the frozen people on the dance floor.
Vessels screaming through the fabric of time.
((okay, listen up. first and second assault groups continue on alpha-direct trajectory. we were alerted to an enemy on purpose transit. this might be it. we didn’t know that they were this far back, and we have no idea how much energy they’ve collected at alpha. we don’t know how much of the pattern they’ve recovered already. if they’ve started to synthesize the upload generators, we have to move fast… we’ll engage the enemy in transit and then investigate the alpha point to see how far they’ve gotten. second assault group star one comes with me. maggie is out there somewhere, and she’s been hurt badly. we’re going to pick her up.))
<simon, how did we miss this much activity so far back?>
((no time for questions. I’ll see you at the point.))
Simon opened a singularity and began the search for Magdalene’s beacon, transmitting weakly through the fluid fabric of the past.
The vessels split into two groups and faded into the night.
Magdalene:
A RUSE; A TRAP. THE JUDAS FALL TO THEIR END.
The words tore through her mind without warning. The Enemy mind-essence revealed itself to her for an instant, then was gone.
A trap? She had to alert Simon. The Enemy somehow knew that she had summoned the Judas. Had her beacon been intercepted by the damned? They would be preparing to engage them. It was a trap.
She felt a presence caress her mind. ((maggie?))
Confusion. Terror.
(simon!?)
((it’s me, maggie. don’t worry; we’re close. we’re coming to get you.))
(your fleet?)
((second assault, star one. First assault and the rest of second are pursuing the enemy in transit—))
(no! it’s a trap!)
((what do you mean?))
(there are more enemy here than i’d anticipated. simon, i don’t know how many. there may be a larger force than this at alpha point already. they must have intercepted my beacon. they’ll be waiting at alpha! they’re luring us to the point. it’s a trap.)
despair.
((but this is an uncharted when. how could we have missed this much enemy activity?))
(it’s command.)
((command? what do you mean?))
(simon, kilbourne’s—)
should she tell him? what if they were listening?
(that can wait. can your forces be recalled from the point before they—)
((you know it’s too late. if the enemy found your last beacon, they’d find this one, too. it’d never get through.))
(i’m so sorry.)
((it’s not your fault, maggie. this isn’t the first time we’ve been deceived by the enemy. i’ll be there soon, and we’ll get you back to command.))
command…
should she tell him? she decided not to, for the time being.
(may their deaths serve a purpose.)
(((first assault, do you see anything out there?)))
<that’s a negative. keep your eyes open. it could be anywhere.>
(((it’d better show up pretty fucking fast. we’re going to be out of the tube in three decems.)))
<be that as it may, assault two, keep your eyes open. if we have to engage it in the bubble, then we’ll engage it in the bubble.>
(((it’s not engaging it in the bubble that worries me… it’s his friends that could be waiting for him there.)))
<there’s been no report of activity this far back. how many could there be?>
(((there could be an infinity of them.)))
The statement was bold, but it was true. How many enemy were out there, watching?
(((he’s not here. either maggie was wrong, or he whendropped and we didn’t see him.)))
<assault groups one and two, prepare for whendrop out of the tube into the alpha point periphery. prepare for enemy engagement.>
(((here goes nothing.)))
The Alpha Point:
The Enemy floated in the blackness, waiting.
The black was pure, the absence of light. The Enemy thrived here, basking in the primordial waves of nothingness.
This was Alpha, a place and time beyond definition, beyond the light, beyond sanity. To be at the Alpha Point was to be at both the beginning and the end of the universe. It was, is, and will be the beginning and end point of the cycle of existence.
In the nothing, there was anticipation.
Silence. A shimmering.
The peaceful strata of void was torn apart by a sphere of expanding, fiery white brilliance.
The universe had begun again.
Just instants into the past, on a different plane of phase space, the Enemy activity was frantic. A sea of black forms, scurrying, placing the offerings from infinite futures before the altar of the Alpha god, layering the bioneural pattern energy around the singularity. Souls by the trillions, waiting for upload into the Omega Point, screamed into the dead night. When the time of the Purpose had come, the planes would be opened to one another and the souls would be uploaded into the Point. The Pattern would again be complete, after billions upon billions of lifetimes.
But it was not yet time… It was time to deal with the Judas threat.
The Enemy vessels that lay in wait were placed in stark silhouette by the blazing point of hell as it swept outward at them.
The beginning was silent in its fury.
The Enemy faded into the past once more, to await their quarry.
The Judas fell backwards through time, and they emerged from the Whenstream just minutes before Alpha in a stark flash of white.
This was a Black place.
(((and we’re clear. sound off, people.)))
Voices, hundreds. Minds touched one another in reassurance.
<assault one ready.>
[assault two ready.]
(((keep it tight. alpha point emergence in two-dot-five decems.)))
<he’s here… i can feel him. keep your eyes open, assault one. he might have friends.>
There was no sign of the Enemy yet, but it had to be here…There had been no sign of it in the Stream, even though Magdalene had said that there was an Enemy on Purpose-transit. They would destroy it before it could attempt to infuse the pattern load it bore. And when it did not report back, there would be more Enemy coming. This could be the last stand…
Simon’s fleet held their positions, blind in the innate blackness that was non-existence. There was no light in a place where there were no stars.
(((this is it. let’s end it right here, right now.)))
The Enemy had a surprise coming.
The Alpha Point.
A slipping of matter; the ignition of infinity: the adversary of Omega.
A childlike future civilization would name it the Big Bang. It was hardly a fitting name. The fury of the Alpha singularity was as silent as the void that had preceded it.
In the pure white, the countless Judas were thrown into stark contrast, each casting a long black shadow into the harsh, palpable light.
In the spaces between the Judas, where there should only have been the white light of the Point, a seemingly infinite horde of writhing, black shadows faded into existence.
The Enemy.
black
laughter like so many tortured pleas resonates
satisfaction of the kill
<jesus, richter and santa go go go! assault one break, formation delta!>
They flew to their ends.
The Enemy cut through the Judas as a pack of wolfs cuts through a herd of sleeping ewes. Simon’s fleet was caught completely unaware. Those who had been staging an ambush were themselves ambushed.
Many Judas fell immediately to the wrath of the fierce beams of light emerging from the Enemy vessels. Their hulls punctured and pierced, rended apart, they flashed from this realm of reality in tiny white explosions. The Enemy bathed the fleet in a paralyzing phase disruption, snapping the Judas’ tether to the Stream and making them vulnerable to physical destruction.
Coming to their senses after the immediate shock had worn off, other Judas began to maneuver between the flailing Enemy forces and the derelict Judas vessels. The ravenous horde webbed the dead Judas and fed upon them voraciously. The Judas wielded the Shadows against the Enemy horde, but severed from the Stream, they had little effect on the lumbering, shapeless number of the Enemy. The Enemy moved as a fluid, deftly avoiding the fury of the Shadows. So many…
The waves of existence the Point had set into motion were closing in upon the site of the battle at an incomprehensible rate.
The Enemy struck down upon the Judas with the god-like power of their webs. Engulfed in the silver strands of phase energy, the Judas died and became one with the Black. Only a few Judas left…
The Enemy suddenly halted their pursuit of the remaining Judas. They converged from all sides and merged into one massive concentration, throwing a haunting shadow over the dazed remnants of the Judas fleet.
The hideous Enemy began to fade, furtively carrying with it the webbed and patterned remains of the Judas it had captured. Where its shadow had been, a wall of pure white energy approached at a speed beyond speed: the Alpha Point wave.
The remaining Judas, still reeling from the terror of the ambush and the paralyzing effect of the phase energy, were torn from this level of existence as the Point wave smashed into, within, and throughout them.
The victorious Enemy smiled.
Simon’s fleet had been destroyed. They would serve the Purpose well. They would help to complete Omega.
Magdalene.
She arose from her slumber, feeling the terror of her compatriots as they became no more. There was an emptiness to the Judas pattern where before there had been none.
She wept, as only a machine can.
Harkness.
The Marines had landed.
They set up roadblocks and barricades on the roads leading into and out of Harkness, U.S. Route 41 and the old Eagle Road.
The citizens of Harkness were unaware of the invasion of their town by several thousand heavily-armed Marines.
A veritable armada of Navy and Coast Guard helicopters converged on the impact area, the site where the Indomitable had gone down.
The Marine troop transports kept coming and coming.
The Harkness situation would soon be under control.
5:30 A.M.
The sun rose over Sawyer Air Force Base.
The eight men in black stood at the main gate to the electrified fence. One went into the small booth beside the gate and pushed the dead body of a soldier out of his chair. The man leaned over and pushed a button. The gate quietly slid open on concealed bearings.
The men strode through the open gate. The man in the guardhouse remained behind. He took the fatigues off the dead guard and put them on. It was a tight fit, but it would have to do.
No one was going into or out of Sawyer Air Force Base.
Around 5:45 A.M. a Michigan state trooper spotted Ray Shore’s pickup truck on the shoulder of U.S. Route 41, several miles from Sawyer, on the southbound lane from Marquette.
After calling in the truck’s description and license plate number, the trooper got out of his cruiser and went to investigate.
He could see the silhouette of the driver in the front seat as he approached from the rear. He drew his weapon, walked slowly up to the driver’s side window, tapped on the glass.
“Sir, please open your window.”
Silence… He knew what he would find already. The driver was too slumped over in his seat to be anything but dead.
Weapon still drawn, the trooper opened the unlocked driver’s door and felt Ray Shore’s neck for signs of life. He immediately pulled his hand back. The flesh was cold. Very cold.
Ray’s eyelids were closed. Suspicious, the trooper reached in and opened Ray’s left eye. A pupil-less, impossibly gray eye stared lifelessly back at him.
Styx…
Jesus Christ. That’s impossible.
The trooper walked slowly back to his vehicle, unsure of how to describe what he had just seen to the dispatcher. If this were true… He picked up his radio.
“Dispatch? You read me?”
“That’s an affirmative. Go ahead.”
“You’d better contact Milicom. They’ll want to see this.”
Magdalene.
Dreams of cold water and gray skies and little little bathing suits that Mum disapproved of and hands-on boys whom Da disapproved of and warm cozy nights of fireplaces and rainstorms and none of the terror that her later teenage years had descended into. None of the terror at all.
She snapped awake at the gentle nudge of an alarm. Where? When?
Trapped beneath an ocean, energy fading…
She sensed three vessels floating above her at the surface of the water, and she also sensed when a fourth vessel emerged from one of the three and began a descent to her.
They had found her after all.
Barbarians at the gate.
Magdalene prepared to greet them.
Mariana Trench, 200 miles from Guam.
The tiny submersible XJ disembarked from his fathership, the Jonah. Within the submarine, two sailors reclined at their controls, preparing for the twenty-five thousand-foot drop into the Trench. They both wore bulky pressure suits to prevent their bodies’ implosion from the weight of countless billions of gallons of ocean water.
“XJ to Jonah. Prep completed. We’re ready for the dive. Drop us, Jonah.”
“Affirmative, XJ. Happy trails.”
The two docking clamps that held the XJ to the Jonah’s docking arm released, and the sub was free.
The XJ plummeted into the void, the frigid, black water, pulled by the weight of twenty tons of ballast. External lights flickered to life.
The pilots of the XJ, even in their advanced pressure suits, still felt some discomfort. Ear pain, eye pain as their eyes struggled to focus with compressed lenses.
At twenty thousand feet below sea level the XJ began to vent ballast to slow its descent. The external lights brightened, and sensors and cameras began to roll.
The Geiger counters revealed a surprising lack of radiation in the impact area.
Five hundred feet to the ocean floor.
She saw their annoyingly bright lights and felt them vent the ballast. She had been found.
She was sorry the she would have to have to eliminate them. They had done nothing to her, except discover her precious hiding place. She could not allow them to alert others to her presence at the ocean floor.
Hidden servomechanisms opened weapons hatches.
“Jonah, are you picking this up?”
“Affirmative, XJ. Remain on reconnaissance vector.”
Below them, resting on the floor of the trench, was not a meteor, not a nuclear submarine, not a crashed derelict spacestation.
Below them rested an unidentified object. A spaceship. A big one.
The XJ’s searchlights and cameras revealed a huge, matte black vessel. It was without a doubt not from the ocean, a foreign country, or even Earth. It was alien.
The vessel’s top surface laid below the XJ, stretching away into the utter darkness of the Trench. It was intact, almost beautiful in its symmetry, but it was obvious that it had not had a controlled landing. The hull was scarred and covered with small surface dents. The vessel lay placidly at the bottom of this gouge in the planet. It reflected no light at all. It was as if light were pulled into its hull and not released. The vessel was shaped as two halves, joined together by a central hub. It was beautiful; it was terrifying.
“Jonah, this is scary shit. Requesting permission to—.” He stopped speaking abruptly.
Movement.
A small panel slid open on the surface of the vessel. Something glinted within.
“XJ? Please respond.”
“Jonah, I—”
Heat. A fierce beam of white light lashed out of the hub of the vessel and sliced the XJ in half. Both pilots died instantly as the boiling water ate through their pressure suits’ valves and twenty-five thousand vertical feet of ocean pressure crushed them.
The light swept back and forth until the XJ was no more. The primary threat taken care of, the light intensified and focused upward, upward, to the surface of the ocean. It cut the three surface vessels apart, and in a hail of searing white radiance and steamy, evaporated ocean water, it ended the lives of hundreds of humans. Caught off-guard, there was no time for anyone to escape the burning hot, sinking ships. None of the ships had been able to send a distress signal, much less any information about the vessel at the ocean floor.
Magdalene was safe.
For now.
Sawyer AFB had been practically empty, except for a skeleton crew of security personnel that had been quickly, efficiently, and quietly dispatched by the men in black.
The man who sat in the dead soldier’s chair in the guardhouse next to the main gate sat up suddenly, stiffly, alerted to movement from the corner of his eye.
A car was coming down the path to the gate, a dark blue armored sedan, with a silver insignia on the driver’s door.
It was a Milicom vehicle.
It rolled up to the booth. The driver wore the standard Milicom dress uniform. There were three passengers, two grunts and a brass.
The driver’s side window rolled down.
“Official Milicom business, soldier. Clearance code tri-delta. This is urgent.”
The large man in the booth made no move to open the gate. He looked into the car coolly. He saw that the passenger in the back seat was a general, three star. Something big was going down.
“Private, open up the gate, god damn—”
He was cut off as the man in the booth swung up the dead guard’s assault rifle and a hail of armor-piercing bullets tore apart the two passengers in the back seat.
The smell of gunpowder and blood hung languidly in the air.
“Shit! Holy shit!” The driver threw the car into reverse and floored the accelerator. The car jolted backward, the tires screeching. The soldier in the front passenger seat drew his service revolver and was cut down by the man in black, wielding the rifle before him as he emerged from the booth, following the car.
The stream of bullets silenced the screams of the driver forever. The car continued backward until the gas tank was punctured, and the car was torn apart, engulfed in flames.
The fiery wreckage stood fifty feet from the main gate entrance. Inside, four bodies were sent to their gods.
The man in black’s finger held the trigger of the automatic rifle down and swept it back and forth over the flaming wreckage until it emitted only a dry, ratcheting click. He returned to the booth and sat down again. He released the long magazine from the rifle’s barrel and slammed a fresh clip in. He emotionlessly leaned the loaded rifle against the wall.
It would be a busy day.
The main hangar doors rolled open.
Reynald’s eyes lit up.
And Bingo was his name-o..
Before them stretched a veritable fleet of the most advanced warplane this civilization could yet offer, the B-4.
The men in black went to work.
The Red Room.
David Jennings paced back and forth, his hands cradling his face. His eyes shifted warily, tracing his path.
“Do you still think this is all a coincidence, Cervera? Is it still just a fluke?”
Cervera frowned. “We have no evidence that it was an attack. It could have been radiation—”
“Radiation? Do you think this is another Mir or Liberty crash? This wasn’t an abandoned space station.”
“But no one has claimed responsibility.”
“Did anyone claim responsibility for Washington?”
Cervera fell silent.
Jennings glared at her. “Look at these, General.” He pushed a button on the control panel before them. The hologram of the globe was replaced with a revolving image of the detritus of three Navy vessels. “It’s the latest Air Force recon image of the Guam site.” He pressed another control.
Close-ups revealed an ocean dotted with the bodies of young American sailors.
“Explain that, Antonia. Over eight hundred men and women, dead for an unknown reason. We lost contact with the vessels and AF recon was sent in to check out the site. That’s what they found—the wreckage of three of our best ships. Something is going on, something big, and I want to put an end to it right now.”
He picked up a sheet of paper, a fax.
“The Marines in Harkness, Michigan interviewed some of the locals. They reported the appearance of several men in black uniforms who they assumed were our guys until they demanded information about local airports and subsequently kidnapped a man. His body was found over two hundred miles away, south of Marquette… The body had gray eyes.”
“So?”
“Gray eyes with no pupils. And the body was cold. Very cold.”
Cervera rose, hands on hips, head shaking in a manner that would have brought a certain non-crook American president to mind a century earlier.
“That’s impossible. We put them all on—”
“Santa Fosca? Yeah, well, SF doesn’t exist anymore, Tony. Milicom is shitting bricks over this.”
“What are you saying, Jennings?”
“These events have to be linked together somehow—”
“Impossible. They’re half a world apart.”
“Impossible? Here’s one last bit of information. The Pentagon team you yourself sent to Sawyer Air Force Base to set up a situation response net never reported in. All communication with Sawyer has been cut off—”
“What? There’s a fleet of B-4’s at Sawyer!”
“Exactly. We’re having troops diverted from Harkness and the Line to investigate, and to use whatever means necessary to nip this problem in the bud.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a plan at work here, within our own borders, and in our own territory. It has begun, and now it’s our job to end it. It could be an attempt at a Milicom corporate takeover. Maybe the Japanese found out about the B-4s. This could be a full-scale invasion, for all we know. We have to take extreme measures.”
“Extreme measures.” Cervera had an air of disbelief about her. Indeed, she did view the President’s motives with caution. Jennings couldn’t be trusted under this extreme stress, especially not after what had happened to his family.
“In all likelihood, the Lake Superior site is the jump point of the major invasion, if that’s what this is. It makes the most sense. So they’ve started to send in advance groups, small insurgence parties—”
“With all due respect, David, that’s crazy.”
“You’ve never given me my due respect, Tony. They took out Santa Fosca to cover up the fact that—.”
“This isn’t the Quebec War, Jennings.”
He continued to ignore Cervera. “What we need to do is evacuate the area. The Marines are in Harkness already. We evacuate the civilians, and send in more forces. We reevaluate the situation from there. We surround Sawyer and move in, try to capture whoever cut off communications alive. And as for the Guam site, I don’t think we should fuck around any more. Something down there took out three of our ships and hundreds of our people.”
“What are you talking about? Are you going to nuke it?”
“Americans have been killed! More lives could be at stake!”
“Are you trying to start World War Four?”
Calm. Jennings remained calm.
“General, someone else already is.”
Cervera was silent.
“I want two Spears on a scalping run by 1200 hours. The Guam site. And I want Harkness evacuated. We’re moving in. This has to end on our terms.”
Thoughts ran through Cervera’s mind, but she kept silent.
The game began.
12:00 Noon. Harkness.
“Come on, people. Move it.” The armed Marine directed several citizens of Harkness onto the military troop transport parked in the street. Other transports rolled up and down Main Street, some empty, most filled with civilians.
The exodus had begun.
Local television and comnet stations, and even loudspeaker trucks broadcast the same message: the Milicom subsidiary Chemtek chemical plant outside of town had experienced a serious gas leak overnight and the fumes were deadly enough to warrant the evacuation of everyone within twenty miles. It was a shallow excuse, but the Chemtek people had cooperated willingly enough when armed Marines stormed their offices.
Sometimes living in a police state had its distinct advantages.
The last troop transport rolled up to the secured checkpoint on U.S. 41 going out of town.
“That’s the last of them, sir.”
“What’s the final tally?”
“One thousand two hundred sixty-one.”
“Close enough. Inform D.C. that we’ve rounded up the locals, and the town’s clear.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Marines boarded the last transport out of Harkness and left the town quietly, dead in the midday sun.
“Sir, what do you think this is all about?”
“Private, Uncle Sam doesn’t pay us to ask questions.”
Sawyer AFB.
They had the base surrounded.
“Tell Wind River that the Sawyer perimeter is secure. We’re moving in.”
The Marines tightened the noose.
((“Reynald, the natives are closing in on us. We’d better launch as soon as possible.”))
Reynald sat in the cockpit of a B-4. Such simple technology, with its electrical circuitry and computer controls. No bioneural flux or Shadow here. He only hoped that this plane carried enough fuel to take them to Magdalene.
((“Understood. We’re launching. You know what you must do, Joseph.”))
((“Yes, Captain. Godspeed.”))
((“Thank you, Joseph.”))
The man in the guardhouse turned back to the road before him. An armored transport was coming up the path.
He heard a noise behind him, engines cycling up, and he felt the earth shudder as the B-4 taxied to the runway and picked up speed. The huge plane seemed to attain an impossible speed as it lifted off the ground. The landing gear retracted.
He was alone now.
He did not feel any anger or despair at being left behind. He had volunteered for this job in the first place, and he knew at some point he would have to give his life to preventing the Purpose. He felt a resigned satisfaction.
This was his time.
His job completed, Joseph closed his eyes and heard the voices of the countless dead within him. He took a calming breath and felt the shift within himself.
He could not remain here. He could not let the Enemy rape the souls from within him. He would sooner die than let the Omega consume the lifetimes and civilizations that resided in his carrier mind.
“Good luck, Reynald. May we meet again in a better time.”
He shifted higher than he ever before had and felt his mind tear itself free from the boundaries of his body. In the instant before he died, Joseph could see the faces of everyone he had ever loved; he could see everything and nothing. Joseph died in the light of non-existence, and his lifeless body fell to the floor of the gatehouse, cold gray eyes looking still into the void.
“Damn it! Get a squadron of Spears on that B-4, stat!”
The Marine Commander standing at the gate to Sawyer watched the B-4 until it was a small speck on the northwest horizon.
“It heading towards Harkness! Take it down.”
Jennings sat alone in his private quarters, staring at a portrait of his family, his beautiful wife and daughter. He wept in the cold darkness of his isolation.
This time would be different. He would nip the problem in the bud. This time, America would not be dragged into a war. They would end it before it began, and if that meant using extreme measures, if it was for the good of the people, it would be done.
The phone rang. He was startled, recovered, picked up the receiver.
“Good. Okay. It’s time then. You know what to do. This is authorization Jennings, David IDCOM 050 776 9191.
He hung up the phone.
Please forgive me, he thought, and wished that he still believed in a god.
The troop transports formed a convoy on U.S. 41.
The citizens of Harkness and several close villages had been evacuated because of the bad Chemtek nerve gas leak. They would be housed in Ishpeming until the gas dissipated.
Robert Hodge found the troop transport intimately boring, so he stood and peered out the canvas cover of the back door. Those Chemtek nuts had finally messed up, and Rob was the one being punished, forced under armed guard into a dim, noisy troop carrier that was crowded with other townspeople.
Sighing, Rob continued to stare out the door.
In the northbound lane, a line of armored military assault vehicles was travelling towards Harkness…
What the hell?
So this was something bigger than a gas leak…
He watched in silence.
Spears pursued the B-4.
“They’re closing, Captain.”
“I know…” They needed to lose the two smaller airplanes following them if they wanted to live.
“Incoming missile.”
“Changing course to avoid impact.”
“What weapons does this plane carry?”
“Only heavy weapons, like atomics.”
“Atomics? Are there any on board?”
“Sensors read twenty-two.”
A plan flickered to life in Reynald’s mind.
“This is Spear One to Command. Target is locked. Eliminate?”
“Command to Spear One. What is your present position?”
“Command, we are closing on Harkness.”
“Do not, I repeat, do not take down the B-4 over Harkness. It’s packing quite a few atomics. Take it down over the Lake.”
“Affirmative, Command.”
“Spear One to Spear Two! Evasive action! It’s launching something! I repeat launch in progress.”
“Command to Spears: identify projectile!”
4:45 P.M.
The sky over Harkness was clear, blue, empty. The sun slid casually toward the western horizon. Birds sang, and the day was peaceful. The only sound was the approaching line of military vehicles on U.S. 41.
The sound barrier was broken and the bombs had been released and had begun their fateful descent before the birds even had a chance to be startled from their perches. Three jets flashed across the sky, leaving ghostly white contrails in their wake.
The sonic boom came, and the birds departed.
Something flashed in the sky, a metallic flash.
A sparrow gazed at the shimmer, mesmerized.
As it took to wing, Harkness was enveloped in fierce, white, cleansing light, and was no more.
Rob Hodge yawned as he stared out the canvas cover. If he strained his eyes, he could just make out the thin blue line on the horizon that was Lake Superior. He couldn’t see Harkness, but if he squinted he could make out the faint projection of the Calumet water tower. He saw three planes streak overhead—
Silent white light filled the world, and Robert Hodge was blinded by its glory.
The explosion of white hell threw the dark interior of the transport into harsh brightness, terrifying everyone within. As the shockwave swept over the line of trucks, a deafening, explosive sound tore through each passenger’s head.
Robert Hodge groped around the interior of the transport, forever blinded by the initial explosion. His hands found the neck of the GI who had been sitting next to him by the back door.
“What have you done!? What have you done!?” His grasp on the struggling soldier’s neck tightened.
Hodge’s blood stippled the face of the soldier as the bullet tore through his head. The commander of the evacuation stood with gun smoking, and he wrestled Rob’s body through the open canvas cover. He watched as the body struck the asphalt of U.S. 41 and rolled.
Standing in the open back door, thrown into contrast by the hellishly bright mushroom cloud unfolding on the horizon behind them, the commander addressed the shocked passengers of the transport.
“The next person who speaks joins him.”
The convoy continued down the highway.
“Increase speed! We’ll be pulled back in!”
The B-4 hurtled onward, pressed to the limit. Behind it, the two Spears were caught in the backdraft of the shockwave and ripped effortlessly apart. The debris vaporized instantly in the atomic firestorm.
The mushroom cloud shrank until it was nothing but a pinpoint of hellfire on the horizon.
“We’re clear.”
“That should throw them off our trail for a while. Head west. We’ll try to contact Magdalene as we get closer.”
They sped into the setting sun.
Red Room.
Cervera.
She did not believe what she had just been told.
Harkness, Michigan had been nuked.
How had Jennings done this without Cervera’s knowledge? She knew Jennings was scared, but to order a nuclear strike on his own country? She thought Jennings had only meant to use extreme measures at the Guam site, not on Harkness.
The lines of communication were shaky at best at the present moment. No one knew for sure what had happened, but one thing was painfully clear: Harkness was no more, and many American soldiers had been killed in the blast.
War hero or not, Jennings was way out of line.
Jennings was too paranoid for his own good. The Canadians were in no position to start another war. The Styx had made sure of that. Jennings was jumping at shadows. What had started out as probably a meteor shower had turned into a tragedy because of Jennings and his delusions of grandeur.
Cervera loaded her handgun and placed it in her holster.
Jennings had to be stopped.
The sleek, black B-4 sped through the air on a path into destiny. They had won the race against the setting sun.
“Captain, linkup successful. You can speak to her now.”
“Good. Magdalene?”
static.
“Maggie?”
(…yes, reynald?…) The signal was so very weak.
“We’re on our way.”
silence.
“Magdalene, are you still there?”
(…i feel them coming to me again. more ships, more planes. this time they’ll destroy me…)
“They’ll try, but you can’t let them succeed.”
(…jean, my weapons are at twelve percent…)
“Twelve percent? Did you deplete reserve power?”
(…i delegated weapons power to the communications array. i located an enemy on purpose transit. i sent a beacon into the stream to summon a strike force to intercept…)
“Did our forces prevail?”
hesitation.
(…no.)
“Harvest?”
(…soon.)
“And you only have twelve percent weapons?”
(…i won’t survive another attack…)
“If we travel at maximum speed, can we reach you in time?”
(…the approaching vessels are closer to my present position than you are. you won’t arrive in time to save me.. it’s too late…)
“Don’t say that. We’ll find a way to get there before the natives do. Too much is riding on this. We have to alert the fleet of Kilbourne’s plan. We’ll find a way to save your core, at least, and you can be refitted into—”
(…no, reynald. it’s too late for me. they’re so close.. there’s no time for a shadow core transfer… my pattern’s begun to dissemble. my drives are gone. there’s no escape for me, but it’s not too late for you…)
“Are there other Judas in-system?”
(…a force led by judas simon is in transit. his fleet was destroyed at the point, but he’s coming to rescue us. he’ll arrive in several cycles, well after the natives reach me…)
“So now what do we do?”
(…i jettisoned the shadow drive and it destroyed the enemy vessel that attacked us in orbit. a piece of debris from the enemy entered the atmosphere and crashed on a small island near my present position. the island is emitting shadow radiation, the only source on this planet at this time. simon will detect the shadow radiation…)
“Adjusting instrumentation for phase space detection. I see it.”
(…simon will rendezvous with you when the fleet whendrops. It’s now up to you to alert the others of kilbourne…)
“We can still try to save you!”
(…save yourselves…
“Maggie? What’s wrong?”
(…fading. power reserve depletion…pattern…
Reynald was torn. He had never felt so helpless.
“Kilbourne will pay for this. We’ll never forget your sacrifice, Maggie. Never.”
(…the purpose…
“…will be prevented.”
Simon sensed the beacon, accessed it.
The coordinates of an island…A Shadow signature? But that would mean…
No. He traced the beacon to its source.
((magdalene! maggie, this can’t be true!))
(…it doesn’t matter any more…you have to save my crew…it’s too late for me…
((don’t give up! we’ll increase speed! we’ll rescue you!! just hold on, maggie.))
(no time…
((just hold on! please hold on!))
(…simon i love you
((maggie, don’t leave me. i can’t do this without you.))
(…you can
((I CAN’T LOSE YOU AGAIN!))
(…love
((maggie, i—))
(…
((maggie?))
…
((i love you.))
She fell silent as her Shadow faded. She fell silent, forever.
At 09:45 EST, two American Spear warplanes flew over the Mariana Trench near Guam, dropping two hydrogen torpedoes onto the impact site. The Judas Gethsemane Magdalene was no more.
The Enemy tore out of the Whenstream and fell into the gap between the stars.
VICTORY. THE BLOOD OF JUDAS HAS BEEN SHED.
satisfaction.
PATTERN AUGMENTATION((?))
THOSE WHO DID NOT SUBMIT WERE DESTROYED.
THE PATTERN NEARS COMPLETION. THE PURPOSE NEARS COMPLETION.
THE BELT VOLATILES HAVE BEEN HARVESTED.
JOIN US THEN. PLANET HARVEST ENSUES. LET THE UPLOAD BEGIN. OMEGA’S GLORY BECKONS.
From the asteroid belt between Jupiter and Mars, a darkness emerged. The silver Enemy vessel, spidery, black, a cancer of sanity, arose.
WE ARE COMING.
the Black closes.
Simon.
If a machine could love, Simon had loved Magdalene.
Emptiness. Heartbreak. Rage. No word could adequately describe what he felt. The sacrifices they had made, the pain they had seen…How could he survive without her?
What did any of it matter anymore, the war, the Purpose? He had seen his only love die before his eyes a second time. The touch of her mind, the gentle reminder that she was with him always, was painfully absent. She was gone forever.
He quickened his pace.
He had received her final transmission, the coordinates to rendezvous with her crew, and then he felt her silent, mechanical scream as her atoms were torn apart. He had uttered a cry of helpless rage as he felt her die.
A part of him was gone forever, and in its place, something black was born. He would make the Enemy suffer. He would hunt them down to the last traitor.
Almost there…
Simon piloted the strike force through the Whenstream, frantically searching for the correct exit point, not wanting to over- or under-shoot Magdalene’s When.
He sensed her When beacon transmitting in the Stream, a muted, dismal tone in the emptiness between times. Is this really all there is left of her?
Simon signaled the rest of his fleet. He disengaged the Shadow drive, and felt the winds of timesweep wash over him.
((the enemy awaits us.))
He began the hibernatory stasis release process to revive his captain.
With the rage of a human, Simon crashed from the Whenstream into Magdalene’s When, and he began the silent hunt for the damned.
He would find the Enemy, and he would destroy them. Forever.
The moon of Mars. Phobos.
The two black impossibilities orbited the moon, drew closer, joined in an embrace that was at the same time tender and somehow obscene.
The Enemy was one again.
Wind River, D.C.
unrest, suspicion, rumors, denial, cover-ups, contemplation, press leaks, uproar.
anarchy?
whispers…
-you realize the implications of your presence here, don’t you, general?
-does it matter, at this point?
-indeed. let’s get down to business.
-this room is secure?
-what do you think?
-now, now, let’s calm down.
-calm down? jesus. where have you been?
-will all of you just shut up? the fate of the nation may depend on the outcome of this meeting.
-now it’s obvious that jennings is…out of control. two nuclear strikes, unprovoked nuclear strikes in one day, one on our own soil. none of our deep cover agents have reported anything unusual with our neighbors or other pact nations. jennings nuked an american town because of a meteor shower! i still don’t know how he did this without my knowledge, so that means he has allies. we can’t let this man retain the presidency. we all know his past. maybe he’s finally lost it. maybe he never really recovered…
-what do you propose to do about it, general?
-jennings must step down. he won’t do it willingly.
-no shit.
-i mean, he actually thought this was all some intricate plot to start war four on our own soil. he was muttering about invasions and deception. maybe this stretches further than we thought. he could have forces we don’t know of…he could have the styx…
-do we have enough loyalists to make this plan work?
-we will after the morning papers come out.
-so, how do we do this?
“Situation?”
((we’ve whendropped. we’ve found the enemy.))
“Simon?”
((yes, michael?))
“What’s wrong?”
((…))
“What is it, Simon?”
((maggie… they—))
“Oh god no…Simon, I—”
((michael, it’s okay. she… she felt no pain.))
Michael Zero-Four knew it was not okay. He knew everything was far from being okay. He had never heard Simon so… cold? detached? distant? Magdalene had been everything to Simon. After countless years of being the human counterpart to Simon, Zero-Four knew he was not “okay.”
“Where are they?”
((in orbit around the fourth planet’s moon.))
“How many?”
((one.))
“Then let’s get started. Take us in.”
The Judas careened down to whatever fate would meet them.
The Enemy.
Telephone.
“Yes.”
“Autopsy results, Mr. President.”
“What did you find?”
“You were right, sir. The body we found at Sawyer was a Styx. Subtle DNA signature matches. Even had the gray eyes.”
“Thank you.” He hung up the phone.
How the hell had Cervera pulled it off?
There were powerful forces at work here…
Who could he trust?
Yes, he had ordered the strike on the Guam site, and he stood by that decision. But he had not ordered a strike on Harkness, as the entire nation seemed to believe.
There was a coup taking place, and Jennings looked like the bad guy to the American public. How could he disprove these unspoken charges?
Cervera.
Jennings had never really trusted his Secretary of Defense. He had respected Cervera’s courage in War Three and the Quebec War, but…Well, especially since what happened to Old Washington, you just didn’t trust people.
So Cervera had Styx working for her…
Bad, bad feeling…
Nuclear weapons and Styx. What an unstoppable combination.
Santa Fosca.
With all of the confusion of dealing with the PR hyenas, he had overlooked the Styx island. The island that had started all of this…
…santa fosca was encompassed in a thermonuclear explosion.
…can we get any closer?
…sorry, mr. president…the cloud cover is too thick.
Jennings had seen the hologram of Santa Fosca, completely obscured by a thick haze. What evidence had he seen that the island had been destroyed?
None.
The pieces slid together all too well…
Cervera had faked the Santa Fosca bombing to cover up her alliance with the remaining Styx. She had somehow gotten them off that island and used them to overtake Sawyer AFB and steal a B-4. And to cover her tracks, she had bombed Harkness…
He felt the reassuring weight of the pistol hanging from the hidden holster on his chest, and below that, the dull weight of the polyalloy bullet-proof vest underneath his shirt.
He would be prepared.
He was terrified of the unseen, mysterious forces that entered his life only the day before.
No one was going to start another war with America.
No one.
The morning papers.
Headlines…
“CHAOS IN WIND RIVER: President Orders Nuclear Strikes in Guam, Michigan” —The Post.
“ATOMIC HORROR IN MICHIGAN” —The Tribune.
“Federal Troops Evacuate Town Before Nuke” —The Herald.
“COVERUP? D.C. DENIAL!!” —The Daily.
“PRESIDENT SILENT ABOUT NUKES, TROOPS” —The Times.
“JENNINGS MEETS WITH ALIEN AMBASSADOR!! PHOTOS INSIDE!” —The National Enquirer.
The Red Room.
Jennings looked over a copy of some trashy tabloid with mild interest. Apparently he had met with the aliens that crash-landed in Michigan, and they had given him the secrets of the universe. There was even a picture of him shaking hands with a short, egg-headed creature, gray with black almond eyes.
Nice.
The door slid open, and Cervera walked in, flanked by two Marines. They stood resolutely, silent. Armed.
Jennings tapped the hidden security button below the desk with his foot. He had anticipated that this might happen.
“Cervera.” He felt the reassuring heft of the gun against his side. His heart throbbed within his chest.
“Mister President, we’re here to ask you to step down.”
Calm…“I see.”
“Your actions within the last twenty-four hours have been unjustified. We’re asking you to step down peacefully, Jennings. Don’t make us use these.”
“You make me sick, Antonia. This is quite a show you’re staging. Who’s paying you for the B-4? Is it Quebec? France? Indochine? Another backwoods Pact country?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re jumping at shadows, Jennings.”
“The threat is real.”
“What threat? You’re seeing conspiracy everywhere now, aren’t you? Would you be nuking your own country if your wife hadn’t died?”
Jennings visibly flinched.
“She wasn’t the only one to die that day.”
Rage. Jennings stood so suddenly his chair overturned.
“You’re one of them, Cervera, aren’t you?”
Cervera swung her weapon up to Jennings’ face.
“This is your last chance to step down peacefully, you crazy son of a bitch.”
Jennings faced the gun, unblinking.
Cervera pulled back the hammer.
Jennings’ eyes glanced to the left for an instant, just long enough for Cervera’s own eyes to widen in terror before the sound of two gunshots filled the room, and her Marine guards fell lifeless to the floor behind her. Cervera distracted, Jennings wasted no time in swatting the revolver from her hand and drawing his own weapon, which hung inches from her face. His Milicom guards stood in the open doorway, assault rifles trained on Cervera.
“You think you have loyalists, Tony? So do I. And I’m going to expose you as the Styxie traitor you are.”
Cervera uncertainly looked behind her at the armed Milicom troops, weapons still pointed at her. Blood had stained the neutral gray carpet a sick crimson.
“You won’t get away with this.”
Jennings grinned. “Oh, but I will. I’m the President of the Allied States of America. And I believe that the penalty for treason is death.”
Cervera’s jaw dropped and she inhaled sharply before Jennings pulled the trigger. A fine mist of blood mingled with the gunsmoke in the confined space of the room, and Cervera’s lifeless body fell with a meaty thud to the floor, head torn apart by the armor-piercing bullet.
“Get them out of here.”
Jennings’ guards bent, began to drag away the bodies. Jennings casually righted his chair, slumped back into it. He placed his now-heavy revolver on the desktop. He watched blankly as Cervera’s bloody corpse was dragged from the room. The shield door cycled shut, and he was alone.
Seconds later, there were gunshots from down the hallway.
Jennings bolted upright, startled.
Gunshots.
One of his loyal Milicom officers burst into the room, blood pouring from a flesh wound on his arm.
“Mister President, they have the White House surrounded! All of Wind River’s been cut off. Cervera’s men, they killed three of—”
“Is there any way out?”
“All the entrances have been taken by her loyalists. They’re coming this way, sir.”
“Air Force One?”
“It’ll take twenty minutes to prep her.”
“Are there any other planes down there?”
“The Spear you ordered hasn’t left for Santa Fosca yet, sir.”
“Looks like that’s our only way out, son.”
More gunshots, closer.
“Come on!” They ran to the back of the Red Room, where an express elevator led down to the White House hangar. Hearing more gunshots from above, Jennings and the soldier descended into the hangar, where a VTOL Spear-4 stood ready for takeoff.
They ran as quickly as they could to the ramp of the near-vertical jet. The launch doors slid open many stories above them. As they ascended, Jennings turned around just in time to see several of Cervera’s loyalists exit the elevator, weapons drawn. As they opened fire, the officer pulled the hatch shut behind him, and the weak lead slugs bounced harmlessly off the bulletproof surface of the plane.
“Mister President, it’s highly inadvisable for you to accompany us on this combat run. We don’t know what we’re going to find on that island.”
“I’m sure I’ll be safer with you than if I stayed behind with Cervera’s forces. Proceed with the mission, and I’ll try to stay out of your way.”
“Thank you, sir. And may I say that we’re with you all the way. My father and three uncles were killed in War Three, and I lost two brothers in the Quebec War. I don’t want to see our country forced into another war any time soon. Cervera will pay for her treason.”
“Yes, she will,” Jennings whispered. “Yes. She will.”
The plane shuddered and flew from beneath the White House into a brilliantly blue sky, leaving the Rocky Mountains behind. It picked up speed and disappeared to the west in a liquid flash of metal.
Simon.
The Judas Simon was at the front of the formation of Shadow-driven vessels. They passed through the belt of asteroids between Jupiter and Mars without incident, wary of an Enemy ambush.
((there it is.))
They could see the vessel, a dark silhouette against the sunlit face of Phobos. The red mass that was the fourth planet, Mars, loomed above them as the vessels careened toward oblivion.
“Look at the size of it.”
((it’s preparing to harvest. synthesizing the upload generators for the attack.))
“Do they see us yet?”
((no indication that they’ve been alerted to our presence. the shadows hide us.))
“So what do you think, Simon? Do we go for it?”
((we’ve never captured an enemy at this stage of harvest before. the data we could retrieve from the phase core would be priceless.))
“Do we board it?”
((it’s the only way.))
“I know, but I still hate sending troops out into close combat.”
((so do i, but it must be done.))
“Wake them up from their heavens, Simon. Wake them all up.”
The vessels sped on.
Deep within the Judas vessels, an ancient process began anew.
Valves opened. Atmosphere was pumped into chambers where lights flickered, brightened. Heating units began to discharge warmth. Artificial gravity was restored.
Hidden servos whirred; pneumatics pressurized.
In the vast expanse of chambers, the vessel decoded the genetic patterns of thousands of beings from precious files stored for centuries aboard the Judas and began the recreation process. From the base elements of the galaxy, in a primordial stew of nutrient-rich liquid, the vessel stimulated the formation of molecules, DNA strands, cells, tissue, organs, organisms. The vessel vastly sped up the growing process, and within minutes it had created thousands of perfectly viable organisms in the expanse of stasis chambers, reconstituting from ancient binary code the uploaded consciousnesses of the beings that were the Judas.
On the surface of the spherical room, doors slid open. From within, a ghostly steam emerged.
The Judas sentiences began to monitor, probe, analyze, assess the contents of these compartments.
A favorable judgment reached, the next step was taken.
Hydraulic systems lifted the contents out.
In the massive spherical chamber, two thousand sleeping humans lay on elevated platforms, the effects of their rebirth after centuries of emulated hibernation wearing off.
They were the pawns in the chess match of eternity.
Santa Fosca.
Reynald walked on the beach, arms outstretched.
He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, to let his rage shatter the very sky above him.
He fell to his knees, fists covering his eyes, body wracked in silent sobs.
All the pain…
The responsibility rested with him, now that Magdalene was dead. The symbol of her end, a dissipating mushroom cloud, scarred the horizon to the north.
These poor, blind people.
He kneeled in the shadow of the Enemy.
The Enemy shard stood before him, like an accusing finger pointed at the sky. The impact crater stretched outwards, the blackened debris of buildings that had been on the island scattered throughout.
He broke.
He ran for the shard, uttering his rage through incomprehensible nonsense. He tore the Judas symbol from his chest, and threw it at the dead Enemy vessel.
“Damn you! DAMN ALL OF YOU!!”
He fell back to his knees, weeping.
“Captain?”
He spun around, his face a grimace of agony, cold eyes flickering between gray and silver, illuminating the tear-wet surface of his wrinkled and scarred face.
“Captain Reynald?”
“They won’t get away with this. Command will not get away with her blood on their hands.”
“No, Captain…Reynald, we’re picking something up on wide-range sensors.”
“Is it Simon?”
“No, sir. It’s a native vessel. A warplane. On a direct approach vector.”
A silver dot formed on the horizon, drew closer.
((droptroops prepped.))
“Take us in.”
The Judas swept into the shadow eclipsing the surface of Phobos. The Enemy hung in the vacuum, unaware of pending execution.
((simon to strike force: engagement on my go.))
They swept closer, unseen.
Zero-Four locked his arms into the interface gauntlets.
“Ready, Simon?”
((always.))
It began.
black
PREPARE TO BREAK MOON ORBIT.
THE THIRD PLANET((?))
YES. IT IS THE RICHEST IN HUMAN RESOURCE.
LUSCIOUS… UPLOAD.
inquisition. suspicion. hatred.
THEY ARE HERE.
THE JUDAS((?))
THE JUDAS.
A CERTAINTY((?))
THEY ARE SHADOWED, BUT THEY ARE HERE. I CAN TASTE THE PRESENCE OF THEIR CONTAGION IN THE PATTERN. THEY SHALL PAY FOR THEIR BLASPHEMY.
INDEED THEY SHALL.
DESTROY THEM.
The Spear tore through the sky at a phenomenal rate. The tiny island of Santa Fosca appeared on the horizon, grew closer as the plane sped towards it.
Jennings sat, watching the elite group of warriors prepare for the landing and capture of the group who had so ruthlessly killed so many Americans. They were the best, part of a detachment of soldiers who had won fame in War Three by capturing the remains of Paris. Now they would storm the island and try to take the terrorists alive, if they could. It would be a formidable task, if the terrorists were Styx.
Jennings and the troop commander looked at the view of the island the long-range cameras presented.
“What the hell is that?”
Something jutted up from the island, a massive, black something. It looked like a piece of…No, that was impossible. It was still buried in the mountains.
“Radiation level?”
“Nothing abnormal.”
So there had not been a thermonuclear attack.
“There they are.”
Seven men stood near the—thing. One was on his knees.
“What are they doing?”
“Watching us. Preparing.”
“They don’t appear to be armed.”
“They wouldn’t have to be if they’re Styx.” The soldier walked to the cabin. “Fly us in low. We’ll drop in on them from above, and the lower machine cannons can give us cover if it comes to that.”
The sleek vessel glided closer to the island, panels on its underside sliding open to reveal heavy machine guns on pivot axes. The plane slowed.
“They aren’t making a move. They can’t be surrendering.”
“With all respect, sir, if I saw a fully-armed Spear coming at me, I’d surrender.”
Below the plane, the seven men waited in silence.
Reynald stood up, his arms outstretched.
“Closer…Come closer.”
The plane continued its approach.
He closed his eyes.
((FIRE!!))
The formation of Judas dove at the Enemy monstrosity orbiting the moon Phobos.
The domain of vision was blinded by the fierce streaks of light that tore from seemingly empty space at the Enemy. The Enemy itself thrust its own hell at the black between the stars, tearing apart three Judas in a flash of fire where seconds before there was only nothingness. The Enemy was overwhelmed by the sheer firepower of the Judas fleet. Beams of light emerged from countless ports on the Enemy’s surface as it tried to fend off the Judas attack. Waves and ripples of energy flew everywhere, blinding with their wake those unfortunate enough to be ensnared in their web.
The game of eternity had begun another round.
At the sight of one of the men on the island in an obvious stance of surrender, arms outstretched, the pilot eased the Spear to earth, all the while with the heavy machine guns trained on the group. The troops on the plane prepared to disembark and surround them.
“I’m going, too,” Jennings said, pulling the gun from its hidden holster beneath his coat. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask these people personally.”
They felt the plane settle on the ground with a gentle bump. The ramp began to descend, and a warm breeze from the ocean bathed the inside of the plane.
Reynald’s outstretched hand began to quiver, and he opened his eyes. His impossibly silver eyes looked up.
His mind lashed out.
There was a dull thud from within the Spear, and a piercing siren began to wail.
“We just lost—everyone out, now! The fuel tanks have been punctured!!”
A flurry of activity. Time seemed to drag to a halt.
Jennings felt himself roughly thrown down the ramp. “Get the president out, now! Shield him!” He was on the sand, bodies above him, when the world became fire and sound. An instant later, the second tank exploded and hot shrapnel embedded itself in his right arm and carved a shallow trench across his forehead.
He struggled to stand, flares of agony coming from his arm, coppery blood coursing into his right eye from the wound on his forehead. He forced the dead bodies of two soldiers off of his back, his mind morbidly noting that the one remaining eye in the soldier’s head on the left was a beautiful and striking emerald green, and the soldier on the right was wearing a shiny golden cross around his neck that reflected the sunshine like a prism around and around the chocolate brown bloodstained flesh of his neck. If they hadn’t been there, he would have been killed.
He spun around, shielding himself from the vicious flames of the debris with his good arm.
They had given their lives to save his.
He was alone with the men in black.
He awkwardly drew the revolver from the holster of one of the dead soldiers with his left hand and staggered at the terrorists, blood pouring from his arm. He dazedly wiped blood from his eye, and was amazed at how much there was on his hand when he pointed the weapon up at the men standing before him.
He pulled back the hammer.
black
THEY OVERPOWER US.
SILENCE. THEY ARE ONLY VERMIN.
OUR VESSEL SUFFERS.
LET IT SUFFER AS WE WILL MAKE THEM SUFFER. THEIR PATTERNS WILL BE ERASED FROM OMEGA AND THEY WILL SUFFER THEIR HELLS FOR ETERNITY.
WE MUST ESCAPE.
ESCAPE((?)) WERE YOU NOT PART OF ME, I WOULD STRIKE YOU DOWN FOR SUCH COWARDICE.
insight.
OUR VESSEL SHALL BECOME TWO ONCE MORE.
ONE TO COMMENCE HARVEST UPLOAD, ONE TO—
ONE TO BE A SACRIFICE.
A NOBLE CAUSE.
INDEED. YOU SHALL BE A MARTYR.
silence, realization, resignation.
THE PURPOSE WILL BE COMPLETED.
MAY YOUR BLOOD, WHEN SPILLED, BE HONORABLE.
MY END WILL BE YOUR BEGINNING.
the black closes.
They hung in the zero-grav airlocks, lambs ready for slaughter.
Spears of light flashed incessantly from both the Enemy and the Judas, who hovered around the monstrous vessel like a swarm of stinging hornets.
Another flash, another tangible torrent of screaming souls being erased from the pattern. Fourteen Judas now.
“Now?”
((now.))
Twenty-eight airlocks were opened to the void, and thousands of droptroops poured out, shifting as they fell into the expanse of forever.
THEY ATTEMPT TO BOARD US. THEY ATTEMPT THE RESCUE OF THEIR DEAD.
As the droptroops flew at the Enemy, the Judas fleet bombarded the huge target, draining its energy. The beams of light erupted from the Enemy less and less often. With an almost palpable sigh, the vessel emitted one last burst of phase energy, cutting down two more Judas, sending them into the unknown void of phase space.
Its defensive energies depleted, the Enemy waited to be boarded. The Judas fell upon it.
MARTYRDOM COMES SWIFTLY FOR YOU.
INDEED. THE PURPOSE IS NOW YOURS.
In a surprising burst of pure, harsh radiance, the Enemy vessel tore itself into two halves. One half remained in place above Phobos, the other half reformed and thrust itself at an insane speed from the reach of the Judas.
It was going towards the sun. Towards Earth.
((judas paul, mohamet, vishnu: pursue enemy vessel. remaining judas continue capture of phobos enemy. boarding parties continue attack.))
Simon sped after the Enemy.
SECOND RUSE INITIATED.
WE AWAIT MARTYRDOM.
Thousands of humans swarmed over the hull of the Phobos vessel, tearing the surface apart with their minds, creating entries to the internal areas.
The Judas vessels came closer to the dead Enemy to assist the droptroops in gaining entry.
<<i read a fluctuation…an energy surge.>>
[we must take precautions. boarding teams prepare to pull back—
The end came.
NOW.
black becomes nothing.
Simon: a gasp.
((no…NO!!))
Behind Simon and the three Judas pursuing the Earth-bound Enemy, a stark hellfire flashed into existence where once the Phobos Enemy had been.
Simon heard, felt their cries of pain as thousands of droptroops were instantly engulfed within the quantum singularity, their bodies incinerated, their souls raped from existence into the phase space of the Omega. The cries were abruptly cut off. They were gone.
The Judas vessels left behind at Phobos were also consumed in the blast. Simon watched as his comrades were torn apart, flung about.
The Enemy vessel was not totally destroyed. It hung above Phobos, a blackened ruin, blazing fire from within, until, moved by its own suicidal explosion, its orbit deteriorated. The hulking wreckage swept down to the surface of Phobos, and erupted upon impact into a scarlet plume of fire.
Simon looked away.
[simon, we have to retreat. we’re useless against the enemy now.]
((and abandon yet another when?))
[the cycle will continue.]
((we lost so many this time…))
[their sacrifice—]
((will mean nothing! can’t you see that?))
{simon.}
((we should have won this time!))
{SIMON.}
((what, vishnu?))
{the enemy vessel has stopped.}
[they mean to take us all.]
((then we’ll go down fighting.))
FULL STOP.
DO THEY STILL APPROACH((?))
THEY HAVE DECREASED SPEED.
WEB THEM FOR VOLATILES, UPLOAD THEIR SHADOWS FOR OMEGA PATTERN AUGMENTATION.
A WISE DECISION.
From the Enemy, a web beam emerged.
((mohamet!))
Simon shouted, but Mohamet was gone, ensnared by the unexpected web beam. He was pulled to the surface of the Enemy, absorbed.
((vishnu and paul, scatter!))
Simon, Vishnu, and Paul rocketed in opposing directions, splitting the Enemy’s attention, creating more than one target.
The Enemy reached out like a hand, fingers grasping in several directions at once, then suddenly focused on Vishnu. With a flash, he was caught in the web and pulled down. He was gone.
[simon! save yourself!]
((paul, no!))
Paul dove straight for the Enemy, veering around the web beam focused on him. The Enemy was caught off guard.
Paul hit the Enemy at full speed, tearing himself from existence, but hardly affecting the Enemy. However, the Enemy was disoriented for several seconds…
((bless you, paul.))
Simon dove as fast as he could toward the small blue planet below him, forgetting the temporarily blinded Enemy.
Simon had a promise to keep.
A gentle wind swept the island.
“Start talking, or I start shooting.”
Reynald stood, silent.
“Do you work for Cervera? Are you Styx?”
Reynald looked through Jennings with his terribly gray eyes. He said nothing.
“Talk to me!”
A flicker in time and Reynald was right there and Jennings’ gun was in Reynald’s hand. It shimmered with an impossible light and faded from view before Jennings’ eyes. Reynald approached, and Jennings stumbled back, startled. Reynald glared. Another flash and Reynald’s fist connected squarely with the side of Jennings’ face, knocking him off his feet and onto the sand.
“You blind, arrogant people. You kill for no reason. You kill without knowing why or who.”
Jennings said nothing, confused to silence.
Reynald put his hands to his eyes.
“Captain?” The man in black’s eyes flickered with an inner fire.
“What?” Reynald sounded so empty.
“It’s Simon. He’s coming.”
“The fleet’s Whendropped?”
“…”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“There was a massacre around the fourth planet.”
“The fleet?”
“The fleet—Simon is the only survivor.”
“The Enemy?”
“It’s coming. It’s coming to Harvest.”
“No. Please, no.” Reynald’s whisper was barely audible over the breaking waves.
“It’s coming.”
The sky above them was torn open as Simon’s longboat plummeted to the ground.
The longboat was immense. It landed on the beach with a storm of wind and sand, a great black sliver of metal.
((get on, they’re close!))
Jennings was shocked beyond words. He stood and watched the craft land in utter disbelief, jaw agape in amazement. Was it really another Diablo vessel?
The men in black ran to the longboat, boarded it through a hatchway. Reynald snapped from his reverie, ran toward the longboat, slowed, halted.
Jennings was terrified. He sat alone on the beach, blood still coursing down his face. In shock, he wiped it from his eyes and wondered at the redness of his hand.
Reynald relented. He could not blame this man for Magdalene’s death or this insane war. He was just another innocent dragged into the war against the Enemy.
“The Enemy is coming for your planet.”
((HURRY.))
“I know you don’t understand any of this. I’m sorry you had to be caught up in this—”
((THEY’RE ALMOST HERE.))
“The Enemy’s coming for your planet. They’ll kill it. They’ll kill your people. They’ll kill you. They’ll steal your souls and you’ll be damned forever.”
((NOW.))
“If you want to live, come with us.” Reynald looked at Jennings with his too-gray eyes. “There’s nothing we can do now for your people, your planet, your time.”
Reynald looked to the northwest, where an ominous line of black clouds had appeared. The darkness swept upon them. The black lace of the Enemy web was already engulfing the sky.
“There’s a storm coming.
“If you want to live, come with us.”
Reynald took Jennings’ hand and helped him up.
The longboat ascended into the upper atmosphere, then into orbit, where it rejoined Simon, unseen by the Enemy.
((hello, reynald.))
“Simon, I—”
((you don’t have to say a thing. i know she’s dead.))
“Simon, there’s more. We—”
((it can wait.))
Zero-Four joined them. He placed his hand on Reynald’s shoulder, unspoken sympathy passing between the two Judas captains. “Good to see you, Jean. Unfortunately, we’ve picked up an Enemy fleet coming in. The readings from the Stream are off the scale. We’d better get out of here. Into the stasis chambers.”
“But we—”
“No time, Reynald. We have to hurry.”
Jennings stared lifelessly at a viewscreen. “Will they really kill them all?”
Reynald joined him. “It’ll do more than kill them… The Enemy is ravenous in its hunger.”
Jennings was pale, quiet.
“This is for real, isn’t it?”
“The Enemy is all too real.”
Simon slipped into the night.
At four thirty-seven Global Standard Time, the Enemy vessel took a position in Earth orbit, and all global communication systems planet-wide went silent.
The storm had arrived.
Deep within the black, laughter like screaming echoed into the void