by Hodden, TE
The stealth field was… more or less active. It kept stuttering in and out of a warning state.
Harris tried to shake the fog and white noise from his head.
It took him a moment to realise the buzzing wasn’t in his ears. It was the sound of a drone, circling above the canopy.
The stealth field failed.
Harris grunted and hit his visor with the palm of his hand. “Come on! Come one!”
The drone was closer. The guns were sweeping back and forth.
The stealth field was rebooting.
Harris drew his crossbow, and thumbed the dial. His hand shook, and the world wavered in and out of focus. He braced his arm.
The cannons pointed his way, and the barrels span up to speed.
He pulled the trigger and fired an inferno bolt into the engines of the drone. It spun like a leaf on the wind and smashed into the trunk of a tree, exploding in a ball of orange flames.
The stealth field pinged back on.
Harris growled. “Outstanding.” He heaved himself up to his knees, and then his feet, staggering as he tried to clear his head. “Outstanding.”
Flames roared in the distance, from the wreckage of Airforce One. It was half buried in a bank of dirt, that had heaved up the forest before it.
Harris limped on, tapping through the sensor modes on his visor, to compensate for the thick, oily, smoke. He clawed his way up the bank of dirt.
There was a survivor.
Elois Croft was huddled in a ball, under what was left of the remaining wing. She was muddy, bruised, and bloody, a waif wrapped in a blanket she wore liked a cloak. Her eyes were red, her cheeks streaked with tears.
Harris crouched by her. “Hey.”
She croaked on a ragged sob.
Harris took off his helmet, and offered it to her. “For the smoke.”
Elois took it, and slipped it over her head.
“Cone on,” Harris said, taking her arm.
They climbed into the wreck, and crept through the nightmare. The onboard command centre lay askew. The wall of screens glowed through the smoke. Harris crouched and tapped at the screens.
“Isn’t there help on the way?” Elois asked.
Harris studied the screen. “I don’t think so. There’s something jamming communications, and… See here? One of their drones is still up there, broadcasting the transponder code for Airforce One. I’m guessing those drones made sure there were no witnesses. As far as anybody knows… this hasn’t happened.” He tapped his earpiece. “I can’t get through.”
“What do we do?”
“We keep moving,” Harris said. “We find a road. We stop a car. We get out of range of the jamming device, and let the world know what happened here.”
“And the drones?” Elois asked. “What if there are more?”
Harris shrugged. “If we stay here, they will kill us. If we go, we have a chance. Do you want a chance?”
Elois nodded.
He took her hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
01011
Brandi Summers materialised on Mars with a jolt.
She staggered a step, but The Scarlet Knight -Catherine- caught her and held her up.
“Are you okay?” Catherine asked, with a smile.
Summers nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. That first step was a doozie… Oh! Wow!”
The transportation platform was housed in a chamber carved out of a natural cavern. There were places where the worked stone, statues, and engravings of the walls gave ray to the natural, almost organic, shape of the cave. Long fangs of sediment hung down from the ceiling.
The air was cold, but dry.
A number of Husks, in body armour, and armed with machine guns awaited them on the wide steps into a marble-lined corridor. They snapped to attention, and held out their guns in a salute.
The UN Contact Team, and Marines phased into being, then the Praetorian (did they call him Matthew?), Warner, and the Husks.
One of the newly arrived Husks held up the staff, and the parade guard dropped their machine guns from the salute, and bowed to a knee.
A figure emerged from the corridor to the top of the stairs. It was slender and elongated, with a hints of reptilian flesh beneath the stone mask and robes, whose splendour had long faded into a grey, threadbare rag.
Matthew stepped forwards and bowed. “You are Niloc? The Last Martian?”
“Any you,” Niloc said, in a cold voice, “are the Honour Guard of Earth’s United States. You return to me, the staff of my people?”
“He does,” Warner announced. “Willingly, freely, and behalf of his tribe.”
Niloc bowed. “Then I thank you, friends, and welcome Earth’s United Nations to… what remains of the Civil Palace. Please. Come with me now.”
They were escorted through the palace, at a brisk pace, too quick for Summers to take in the marbles in each alcove, that suggested epic scenes of history and battle. She had the distinct feeling of their being taken on a long route around the outer edge of the palace, rather than taking one of the many spurs towards the centre. After some minutes, they were led through an airlock into another cavern. This time the wall was covered by hexagonal cells, each with a front plate of a frosted, glasslike material. Many were cracked and broken, with trails of dark green stains down the front.
Niloc stood, and folded his arms. “Here, I slept, for… countless years. We believed that once the Omega Bomb had destroyed our atmosphere, it would, in time, heal itself. We were wrong. My family, the Imperial Royal Family, slept, waiting to lead our people in the rebuilding. Our duty was to wake first, and… pave the way.”
He turned, and marched on.
Catherine paused and crouched at the foot of the stacked cells. She ran her spear over one of the stains, and frowned.
“What is it?” Summers asked.
“Cryonic fluid,” Catherine whispered. “Many alien races use it to allow them to sail the vast distances between the stars.”
“Oh.” Summers felt a flutter of excitement. “And you… know about that stuff?”
Catherine tilted her head. “Yeah.” She grinned at Summers. “A little. I have a friend who knows more.”
“Angel?” Summers suggested.
Catherine laughed. “Oh. So… Barney had to call her, right?”
Summers nodded.
Catherine hopped up. “We better keep up with the tour.”
The next stop on the tour was an oval chamber, with perfectly smooth walls, the size of a stadium. There were circular pools spread out, evenly about the floor. Each was full of a steaming liquid the colour of cola, around racks of baseball sized crystals, that glowed with an inner light. A tart, vinegary smell lingered in the air.
“My people,” Niloc said. “Each crystal contains a soul, the preserved imprint of a mind, waiting to be reborn into a new body. Their sleep is… dreamless and timeless. They have slept so long that many are degrading. I do not know if they can all be salvaged, but those who can be reborn, should be, as soon as possible.”
Catherine gave Summers a look.
“They aren’t… recordings, are they?” Summers whispered.
“No.” Catherine narrowed her eyes. “I think it was more like a transplant.”
“Can they… be reborn?” Summers muttered.
Catherine raised an eyebrow. “In theory.”
Their next stop was the Gene Foundry, the cavern full of factory machines, industrial pipes and pressure tanks, that fed into the vats, each of which would birth a dozen clones. The machinery was ancient and decaying, but swarms of crab-like robots scuttled over the looms of pipes and cables, making repairs, and welding in new materials.
“Here,” Niloc said, with a wave of a hand, “we will be reborn.”
Matthew looked at Catherine, and gave her a nod.
“It’s all real?” Summers asked.
“Oh yes.” Matthew said. “It is not unlike the machines that birthed me, but they are… of a much bigger scale. Indust
rialised.”
The Lieutenant of the Marines gave him a look. “They could build an army from here?”
Warner raised an eyebrow. “Yes. It could… and it will. The Husks will be augmented by soldiers. But… it will also birth doctors, scientists, engineers, teachers and janitors. A whole civilisation will be reborn, Sir. From the brink… from the ashes.”
“So…” The Marine looked worried. “You could grow a few thousand troops and march through the transport platform to Washington?”
“He already can,” Warner said, quietly. “All he needs for an army of Husks are nanites and dead bodies, and Mars is dead world, rich in both. Yet… he has not. There are… more pressing needs.”
Claremont cleared his throat. “With respect, Sir, may I ask where your people will live? This palace is of a grand scale, but I counted thousands of souls in the crystal matrix, and…would this palace support so many lives?”
“No.” Niloc said. “Which was why I need the staff. It is one of the few psionic batteries that will offer me the power to repair this world. Please…”
Their tour continued, this time up a long and winding staircase, that emerged into an observation room, from which they could look out over the blasted, rusty, landscape, through the soup of ochre dust and dirt, to three white pyramids that dominated the horizon.
Niloc gestured with his staff. “The World-Engines! Machines capable of repairing the atmosphere, and breathing life back into this world. The air will become breathable, it will capture the heat of the sun, and warm the plains, there will be rain, and weather, and… it will seed primordial life. Our canals will flow, and our fields will carry harvests. From there, we will have a whole world on which to build our new cities, our new lives.” He slouched a little. “Please… excuse me… I must return to my Throne Room. My Husks will guide you to your quarters, where you may rest, or prepare for our talks.”
Warner bowed his head. “My Emperor. Allow me.”
He took the hooded Martian by the arm, and guided him from the chamber.
Summers watched them leave, and stared after them.
In the corner of her eye, she could see the thoughtful frown that wrinkled Catherine’s brow.
01100
Harris helped Elois over the wire fence, at the edge of the field, then hopped across himself.
They scrambled down the grassy verge, and over the ditch, to the road, waving at a car, as it sped past without slowing. Elois ran after it, waving her hands at the tail-lights as they vanished into the night.
“Asshole!” She screamed. Her shoulders sagged and she looked back. “It was… probably an axe murder, anyway.”
Another pair of headlights appeared around the corner.
Harris limped into the middle of the lane, and held up his hands, staring into the headlights.
The car swerved with a blare of horns, mounting the shoulder and kicking up trail of dust until it pulled back onto the road, and kept going.
“Asshole!” Elois shrieked after the car.
Harris took the helmet from her, and put it on. The communications channels were still jammed. He couldn’t even get a good navigation signal. He sighed and took the helmet off. He glanced up and down the road, trying to guess which way would bring them to civilisation soonest.
He chose at random, and waved for Elois to follow him.
“Hey!” She shoved him. “Are you using that?”
He looked at her. “You don’t need it.”
She snorted. “It has night vision, right?”
Harris sighed, and passed her the helmet. “Fine. If you get a communications signal, shout for me.”
Elois grinned, and pulled the helmet on.
*
An hour later, they were still walking.
“Should we have seen police cars by now?” Elois asked.
Harris nodded. “I’m guessing the phones are out too. Somebody planned this. If anybody saw or heard anything…”
“Right.” Elois groaned. “We’re on our own.”
“Yep.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Elois asked.
“No.”
“But…” She persisted. “There is somebody you like?”
“No,” he said, bluntly.
“Oh.” She kicked a loose stone over the shoulder. “There used to be somebody?”
Harris gritted his teeth, and stared into the field. “No.”
Elois cocked her head. “Huh. Are you lying?”
Harris breathed through his teeth. “I don’t talk about it.”
“Oh,” Elois said, quietly. She stopped. “Hey, there’s a car coming.”
Harris stared down the road. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness.
“It has its lights off,” Elois said, quietly.
He grabbed her wrist, and pulled her into over the shoulder, and into the drainage ditch. “Lay low,” he whispered. Carefully he lifted the helmet from her, and pulled it on. “Stay still, and quiet.”
The car, speeding along the highway without lights, was a military patrol vehicle. It’s drab grey armour gave it a bulky, bullyish appearance.
Harris adjusted his camouflage to match the ditch, and stood over Elois, making sure the stealth field masked her body heat.
The patrol vehicle rumbled past.
Harris held his breath.
A warning flashed in the corner of his vision. The stealth field glitched and failed. His camouflage blinked off.
The patrol vehicle squealed to a halt, and reversed back down the road.
Harris drew his crossbow and thumbed the dial. A stun bolt clicked into the breach.
The car stopped, and the gull wing door opened upwards.
A man built like a lumberjack, and dressed like an assassin climbed out. He wore a ballistic mask, an armoured tunic, and a long coat that hung behind his knees. He carried a short, stubby sub machine gun with a long silencer.
The assassin held his gun ready, and crept to the edge of the ditch.
Harris fired his crossbow.
The assassin caught the bolt in his gloved fingers, as it detonated with a pop. Discarding the remnants of the bolt, he opened fire with the machine gun.
Harris threw himself forwards, and knocked the gun aside, so the bullets chewed holes in the side of the ditch. He crashed into the assassin, but it was like trying to tackle a concrete wall. The assassin was unmoving, and unyielding.
Harris drove his elbow into the assassin’s mask.
Pain radiated down his arm, through his bones. The Assassin didn’t waver.
He stepped back, and threw all his weight behind a punch. And another, and another.
The assassin grabbed Harris by the collar and threw him out the way. Harris flew across the shoulder, and bounced off the patrol vehicle, with a dull thump. The world blurred out of focus, as he dropped to the floor. As he surfaced from the daze, the assassin was holding his submachine gun in both hands, staring down the iron sights at Harris.
Harris rolled aside, thumbing the dial on his crossbow, and taking aim.
The burst of silenced bullets cracked and sparked against the armour of the patrol vehicle.
Harris fired a lightning bolt.
The assassin caught the bolt, and it detonated in a flash of arcing energy. The assassin howled, hunching and spasming in the ghoulish dance of hanged man.
Elois sprinted from the ditch and launched herself into the patrol vehicle. She landed in the driver’s seat, and slammed it into gear.
The assassin dropped to his knees, and flopped forwards, retching and gasping for breath.
“Scimitar!” Elois barked. “Get in!”
Harris nodded, and climbed into the car.
She stamped on the gas, and lurched up to speed, even before the door was closed.
01101
Summers sat in the corner, growing less and less sure of her place in the discussion as it grew into the nuts and bolts of planning aid packages for the specific needs of the Martians. The Marines
had drifted away to another table in the grand dining hall, closer to the minstrel’s gallery, to banter and joke, but she didn’t feel like she would belong there either.
Matthew (and he had insisted she called him that, which made her heart flutter a little) was holding court in the Contact Team, explaining the likely capabilities of the Martian technology, and how the process of using it was likely to go.
More often than not, Summers found herself staring across the room to Catherine.
Catherine was stood in the other corner of the room, her eyes closed, her spear held out. Something about the way Catherine stood, reminded Summers of an owl, perched up high, watching a field, waiting for the rustle of the long grass that would betray a small animal.
Her eyes snapped open, and for a moment she stared right back at Summers, into her eyes.
Summers flushed, and looked away, tangling a finger in her hair.
Catherine hopped to her feet, and marched towards the exit. She glanced back at the door, and offered Summers another smile.
Brandi hurried after her, and caught Catherine up in the corridor. “Hey!”
“Hey!” Catherine said. “I’m going for another look at those sleep chambers.”
“Okay,” Summers said.
They found Niloc in the Gene Foundries.
The machines were humming and churning. The first of the crystals had been moved from their matrix to the foundries. The birthing vats were bubbling away.
Niloc did not turn to face them. “The first of my people are being reborn. With the staff, I could unlock the systems, and learn to set the process moving. It will take one Martian year, two of your years, to grow new bodies and infuse them with the awareness of my Wards. It seemed… foolish to wait.”
“My Emperor,” Catherine said. “Might we see the sleeping chambers again?”
Niloc turned and looked at them, leaning heavily on the antique ceremonial staff, the sphere at the top glowing faintly in the murky shadows.
“Yes?” He demanded.
Summers bowed her head. “I am sorry. I mean no insult by intruding but…”