by Hodden, TE
Summers swallowed. “Okay, but…”
“Brandi!” Warner put his hands on her shoulders, and stared into her eyes. “I saw Mars. The Orphan sent me there, to find the Rebel survivors.”
Summers looked at the Husks. “Survivors?”
“Them? No. They are… slave zombies.” He cupped Summers’ cheek. “The Rebels had their own plans to survive the death croaks of Mars. Their leaders, their best and brightest, were selected to enter a cryogenic sleep, to wake up when the atmosphere had healed. The rest transplanted their souls into a crystal matrix, like the needles, but more powerful by a thousand-fold. The leaders would awaken, and use Gene Foundries to make new bodies for them, but… the planet died, and they never awoke. They have slept so long that all the leaders, bar one, died in their sleep. The matrix is failing too, but there are still some souls clinging on.” His smile brightened. “The Orphan’s last wish was for me to wake them. To save them.”
Summers sighed. “Yeah, well, I met them, and they tried to murder people. So… I’m not a fan.”
“I know.” He rubbed his head. “His name is Niloc, he is a child, confused and grieving. I tried to stop him, but… He was in a dark place when I woke him. Much of the equipment that was going to rebuild his world has been lost to the centuries. His race is almost extinct, and his colony world has been invaded.”
“Us?” Summers spluttered.
Warren smiled. “It is how he sees us. It was. He needed the staff, for his people to survive, and he chose to march in and get it. I convinced him that there is a more reasonable way, that humanity may not be his enemy, but… I am going to need your help.”
Summers chewed her lip. “You want me to get the staff? I can’t just…”
“I want you,” Warren said, “to help me save a world.”
01000
Harris flew above the motorcade as it sped through the airport. Airforce One was waiting on the runway, the engines already ticking over. The snake of trucks and armoured limousines sped over the runways to the waiting jet liner.
A scarlet blur ran in circles around the parameter fences of the airport.
“Anything?” Harris asked, cycling down the power of his flight pack, and landing beside Airforce One.
“Nothing,” Catherine reported. “Once you are airborne, and in the capable hands of the fighter escort, I will go and deal with Barney’s emergency.”
“Understood.” Harris tapped off his link, and approached the Secret Service Team Leader.
“Hey! Scimitar?” The Team Leader pointed up the steps into the aircraft. “POTUS wants to debrief you himself. Where is your partner?”
“She can’t join us,” Harris said. “There’s another flap on elsewhere.”
“More important than an assassination attempt on the POTUS?”
“Yeah,” Harris growled. “It’s shaping up to be one of those days.”
He hurried up the steps, and was directed into one of the passenger cabins. He took his seat, and strapped himself down.
“Hey!” Elois Croft, the first daughter took the seat across the aisle. “Mister… er… Codename Scimitar? I don’t know if you remember, but we… kind of met once.”
“Yeah. I remember. Are you…”
“Better,” she said. “I’m not allowed to talk about it. But… I wanted to thank you for a whole load of stuff that didn’t officially happen.”
Harris nodded. “Well, if had happened, you would have been more than welcome for my help. I’m glad you’re staying safe.”
“Just…” Elois rolled her eyes. “Not as safe as I had hoped, right?” She pouted. “I can’t wait for the next few years to be over, and for the whole world to forget us. I kinda liked being a nobody, more than I like being a target. You know?”
Harris nodded. “Oh yeah. I know that…”
The doors closed, and the engines rumbled, as the jet roared down the runway, and swept into the sky. As the jet levelled out, four fighter jets closed in around them, in a protective formation.
“Okay,” Harris muttered. “That’s the handover. Stay safe Catherine.”
“Understood,” Catherine acknowledged. “Have fun.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Harris growled.
*
An aide guided Harris through Airforce One to the Presidential Office. The door closed behind Harris, with a hiss of a seal being made.
President Croft was sat behind the desk, his jacket off, and his shirt sleeves rolled up, as he considered the files scattered before him.
The Vice President sat to one side, on the couch, cradling her chin in her hands.
“Okay, Mitch,” the Vice President said, her stony gaze falling on the aide. “We need the room.”
The aide stepped out and closed the door.
Croft stared at Harris. “Do you mind if we do this face to face? I want to talk to Rock Harris, not the Scimitar.”
Harris lifted his helmet off. “Mister President. Ma’am.”
The Vice President smiled. “Agent Harris, as always, your service is appreciated.”
Croft nodded. “Which makes what I have to say next, more difficult. Harris, I need your word that the Honour Guard will not investigate this further.”
“Sir?” Harris kept his anger on a tight leash. “With all due respect sir, what I fought today was exactly the kind of strange and unusual threat the Honour Guard is supposed to tackle. Three years ago, you stonewalled my investigation into whoever was behind your daughter’s kidnapping. You told me it was under control. Now somebody with the same… condition, in a lot better control of their abilities has bitten us in the ass, and you… are making the same mistake again.”
The Vice President shook her head. “Homeland Security have spent those years running an investigation. It is at a crucial stage, and it would be put at risk if your organisation draws attention to it.”
Croft gave Harris an apologetic look. “I don’t like doing this Harris, but there’s too much at stake.”
Harris raised a finger. “This feels rotten sir. If I find¬”
The aircraft shook.
Croft braced himself. “What was that?”
Alarm flashed on the wall. The aircraft banked sharply, and the office pitched to its side. An airman in combat fatigues struggled into the office. “Mister President, Madame Vice President, we are under attack. I need you to come with me, and¬”
One of the fighter escorts exploded outside the window, close enough for shrapnel to rake against the hull. In the same instant a hornet shaped drone flashed past the window, its rotary cannon spinning, the muzzles blazing. In the same instant a blizzard of bullets tore holes through the hull, shattered the windows, and shredded the office furniture.
Bullets hit Harris like anvils and sledgehammers. The bullets flattened and shattered against his armour.
He staggered and dropped to his knees, his helmet tumbling out from his reach.
The others were dead, their life stolen away, before they hit the deck.
The outer wall of the office disintegrated into a trail of debris, pulled apart by the howling tornado of wind, that pulled the bodies and debris into the open sky.
The hornet-like drone was revealed in the open sky, its rotary cannons swinging back and forth, like a dog seeking a scent. There were tow more flying over the wing, firing their cannons into the engine, ripping it apart.
Harris fired his flight pack, and caught his helmet, as he flew into the open sky. He jammed his helmet on, and drew his crossbow, thumbing the selector to inferno bolts. The drone banked away from the plane, firing at Harris. He retaliated with three bolts to its engine. The drone fell away in a ball of flames.
Harris tapped open a communications link. “Scimitar to any Honour Guard, able to respond. Air Force One is under attack. The President and Vice President are dead.” He flew out wide, and took aim at one of the two drones over the wing. “Immediate assistance required.” He drew a breath. “Anybody? Please? Respond?”
The
airwaves were dead. There had to be something jamming all communications.
He was alone.
He fired two inferno bolts into the bulbous head of the nearest of the two remaining drones. The bolts detonated, but didn’t stop the drone, or slow its barrage on engine.
Air Force One’s engine exploded, ripping apart the wing, and tearing it from the jet. The plane rolled and tumbled, into a whirlpool spiral, falling from the sky.
The drones came about and opened fire at Harris. He plunged into a dive, banking and rolling trying to move faster than the drones could aim. Bullets whistled past his head, zipping over his shoulder.
With teeth gritted, he looped about, and tried to get a clear shot of the drones.
Bullets hit his flight pack like a wrecking ball. The engine spluttered and failed, belching smoke and flames.
“No!” He cried out, as he plunged into freefall. “No!”
Airforce One belly-flopped into a field, and ploughed a deep trench into an island of woods, trailing debris and fire.
Harris overshot, and smashed through the canopy of trees, shattering a branch on his way. The ground filled his vision as it leapt up to meet him, in a supernova of wet, crunching, pain.
01001
Catherine paced around the barn, scanning the transporter pad with her spear. Her lips were pursed in concentration.
Barney followed her. “Is there no way we can track her? Or…”
“I’m working on it,” Catherine snapped, with more force than she intended. “Unless you can think of a better way to track a transport signature that has already cooled and faded?”
Barney backed away, looking sheepish. “She was my responsibility.”
Catherine nodded. “And I am doing all I can to help, but please, be patient.”
Barney shuddered. “What if she got scrambled? What if she’s been kidnapped? What if¬”
The spear shuddered in Catherine’s hand. “Barney!”
He looked over at her.
“I think she’s coming back. Something is making a connection.”
They stepped back from the platform, as a ball of energy arced and flashed. Fingers of lightning reached out and described shapes that became the young academic Barney had described, Summers, an austere looking man in dark clothes (the missing Professor Warner, it would seem) and two zombie martians in silver balaclavas and body armour.
Barney held out his hand, and a heavy disruptor folded out of his wrist.
Summers staggered, and wavered dizzily.
Catherine caught her. “Are you okay?”
Summers smiled, and stared at her. “Hi…” She blinked. “Mitchell? It’s okay. They aren’t here to hurt us. I agreed to help them.”
Barney cocked his head. “You remember what these guys did?”
The Husks spoke as one. “We. Come. In. Peace.”
Summers lifted herself away from Catherine, and stepped in the way of Barney’s gun. “Mitchell. It is okay. They aren’t going to hurt anybody. They aren’t armed.”
Barney lowered his gun. “What’s going on?”
Warner smiled. His eyes shone. “Summers has kindly agreed to help me retrieve an artefact, that will save the Martians from the cusp of extinction. Please understand… we are not your enemies. The… regrettable incident was a misunderstanding I have worked hard to rectify.” He stooped to study the spear in Catherine’s hand. “Fascinating.”
As he touched the blade, Catherine felt an echo of an ocean deep psychic potential.
He looked her in the eye, as he sheepishly withdrew his fingers.
“So…” Summers gave Barney a nervous smile. “We I really need a little help.”
*
Catherine found Summers up on the flight deck of the Manta, watching the chaos unfolding across the farm. The United Nation’s Contact Team were setting up their mobile station, run from the backs of trucks, on the field, under the protection of a Special Duties battalion of the US Marines.
Warner and the Husks were waiting by the barn, apparently in conversation with Jean-Marc Claremont, the head of the UN team. The soft-spoken and genteel Frenchman was stroking his chin, and gesturing with his long fingers as he asked his endless questions.
Catherine set a coffee down on the console. “Here, I thought you might need it.”
Summers looked up at her. “You have a coffee machine on here?”
“No. I got it from the Marines.” She flicked her hood down, and cradled her own cup, as she took the other seat. “How are you holding up?”
“Me?” Summers laughed nervously. “I don’t think I am. I mean… none of it feels real yet. It was weird enough getting the message, but everything is…” She blinked. “I feel like I’ve been dragged around the world, and the moment my feet touch the floor, it will all crash down on my shoulders and be real.”
Catherine smiled. “I know the feeling. The world can be like that sometimes.”
“Any idea how to make it stop?” Summers chewed her lip. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”
“Really?” Catherine cocked her head. “I think you are doing a lot better than you realise.”
Summers cleared her throat. “They want me to go with the team to Mars. Mars!”
“I know.” Catherine watched her carefully. “Do you want to?”
“Yes!” Summer’s eyes sparkled. “Absolutely. Without a doubt. It’s just…” She stared into Catherine’s eyes. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course,” Catherine promised.
“I have… so many reasons I should be afraid, right? It’s Mars! And there are aliens! And those Husks? The last time I saw them, they tried to kill… so many people. But…” She stared into Catherine’s eyes. “They don’t scare me. Mars is dangerous, but so was Antarctica, and… the idea of using that platform is scary, but Barney said your spear could make it safer?”
“Yes.” Catherine smiled. “I can stabilise the transport signal.”
“Right.” Summers nodded. “And… the Husks are creepy but… they don’t scare me the way Warner does.”
Catherine shivered. “He scares you?”
“He’s…” Summers shrugged. “He’s changed. I can’t explain it, but at first I thought it was whatever he has been through that changed him, but… when he looks at me, when I look into his eyes there is something… Not wrong, so much, but… not him.” She drew a breath. “I know it sounds silly.”
“No.” Catherine sipped her coffee. “You knew him well?”
“For years,” Summers whispered. “I studied under him at university, and it was the Professor who convinced me I had what it took to stay on for my PHD… He was more than a tutor, he was a friend, a mentor, and… the closest thing I had to a father.” She shook her head. “But he keeps looking at me like he is figuring out how to talk to me, how to get what he needs from me…”
Catherine tapped her lips. “It could be nothing. It could be… whatever he went through. He is… powerfully psychic. If that potential was untapped when he communed with the Orphan entity, he could be seeing you… anybody… for the first time. He really could be learning how to handle everything.”
Summers smiled. “That is true. Psychic? That is…” She lit up, as though about to laugh, but caught herself. “That makes a certain kind of sense. Back in Antarctica he said something was out there, and it wanted to be found.” She looked away. “I know how all this sounds, and… you are right. It’s probably nothing.”
“But,” Catherine said, gently, “if it isn’t, I’m always going to be there. Just tell me you want to talk about our little chat, and I will listen.”
“You’ll stay with me?”
“Sure.” Catherine grinned. “As long as you can put up with me.”
Summer smiled back, and toyed with her hair. “Okay.”
There was a flash of light across the sky.
Summers hunched forwards. “What was that?”
“Ah!” Catherine chuckled. “It’s time to get sta
rted. Are you sure you want to come?”
Summers nodded, enthusiastically.
*
Matthew touched down by the barn, carrying the Martian staff.
Catherine and Summers watched from the back of the crowd as Claremont took it from him, and offered it to the Husks.
“And so…” Claremont said, holding out the staff. “I hope this is a gesture of our good intentions. I imagine you will have a need for food, clothes, or other essentials. I think it will be of benefit to us to be friends. Yes?”
The Husks took the staff, and considered it. The spoke as a chorus. “It. Is. Returned.”
Warner placed his hand on the staff, and the sphere at the top of the knotted bone-wood glowed in every colour at once. “I am sure you will have their Master’s gratitude. Please, if your party are ready, we should begin.”
The UN Contact Team, and a squad of Marines gathered.
Catherine grinned at Barney. “We will see you soon.”
“Sure.” Barney chuckled. “Bring me back something nice.”
Summers rolled her eyes.
Matthew offered her one of his encouraging smiles. “Are you ready for this, Ma’am?”
Summers glanced to Catherine and smiled. “Yeah. I’m good.”
They walked to the transport platform together.
01010
Harris came to, laying in a muddy rent between some trees. The swollen moon cast long shadows through the woodland.
He rolled over, and wiped the mud from his cracked visor. Every breath hurt every part of him. His armour was flickering, the camouflage patterns glitching and stuttering. He whacked the helmet, and it settled on a dark woodland pattern.