Archangel

by Mich Moore

needed no prodding now. Walters and Bautista were already scampering after the few stragglers that had not made it to safety inside yet. Broussard take one last look at the chaos exploding all around him and then shot off after them. He was mere centimeters from the doors that would take him inside when an orange balloon whizzed by his head and spritzed him with something cool and gelatinous. Almost immediately he found himself unable to continue his forward momentum.

  Oh, my God. What is happening to me? Raw fright gripped him.

  Z and Kwolski came up on either side of him. "Neal, are you okay?" Z asked.

  "I can't move."

  Z put his hand on Broussard's arm and tightened it as he gently steered him around one hundred and eighty degrees and pushed him forward, back towards the parking lot. Broussard knew that he was unable to move his legs. So how was he moving? Instead of giving in to the blind panic that he was feeling, he started to fight against Z's grip on his arm. But it was hopeless. And now the paralysis that had stayed his legs was quickly creeping up his body. His hips and torso became lifeless.

  Kwolski spoke softly to him. "You are in a mobile stasis field."

  "What are you doing? NO!" Broussard protested loudly. His new captors ignored his commands until they were once again standing before the gruesome evidence of the final scene of Patrik Jansen's life. Kwolski and Z let go.

  Z pointed at Jansen's remains. "Look!" He had to shout to be heard above the wind. "This man died a dishonorable death because he led a dishonorable life."

  Broussard could still move his head and he turned away. "I don't want to see that again!"

  Z smiled without warmth. "Neither do I." Z's eyes scanned the unsettled horizon. In the distance twenty-meter tall trees were being wrenched up by their roots and sucked into the sky. Walls from houses and buildings rose and flew in an aimless circular path. They looked like flimsy pieces of paper from where they stood. The cars in the lot began to skitter across the ground, banging and crashing into each other. The noise quickly became deafening. "Patrik died without a biological heir!" Z shouted into his ear. "The patent for the DAT neural net now belongs to the American government. That program must be adjusted as quickly as possible!"

  Broussard again tried to run away, but his legs still would not budge. Yet he continued to struggle against his invisible restraints. Z became irritated. He motioned to Kwolski with his head. "Go to Jansen's apartment and search his computers for the code! If you don't find it there, have all of his equipment in Amsterdam confiscated. Go!"

  Kwolski jumped as if Z had cracked a whip, hopped into a sliding car that had once been parked close by and drove off into the maw of the strengthening storm.

  "Mr. Broussard, you have been chosen to repair that code! This task and more—much more, if you want!"

  "Dammit, let me GO!"

  Suddenly the sound cut out. Broussard could still see the storm grinding through, but it was as if a giant hand had switched the volume button to OFF. The pace of the action picked up. It looked like the earth itself was vomiting up its guts. Broussard's mind began to veer of its rails, and he raged and cursed until he started to foam at the mouth.

  And then the balloon was zipping by again and unloading another wad of jizz in his face.

  .... Peace. It was the kind of drug-induced serenity that one felt right after the anesthesiologist pumped you so full of drugs that you paid no attention whatsoever to the surgeon who was about to saw off your leg. Once again Broussard was made to witness his world being torn apart by brute forces. But this time, the insanity of it all did not have all of those sharp, jagged edges. In fact, he felt pretty good about it. Mother Nature was just doing her job. Like when your girlfriend woke up in the middle of the night to spend the next six hours frantically rearranging the furniture. Sure you had a few intensely absurd hours on your hands. But afterwards, you always had to admit that the place looked better.

  A shockingly strong wind shear hammered them from above, causing the building's windows to rattle in their grooves like old bones. One more hit like that and the building would collapse. Broussard thought about the people hiding down below in the basement. They would be entombed. An image of Grace briefly entered his mind. Grace Montgomery. Now that situation was a real mind blower.

  The fencing on top of Jansen blew away as did Jansen himself. See. That was a definite improvement to the scenery.

  Z abruptly sank to one knee. "An ascended approaches." He lowered his face.

  A tiny portion of his brain, not yet fully desensitized, chirped up now. Something very awful or very bizarre is probably about to happen. Pretend not to notice.

  His attention was drawn to a small speck of light in the sky. He watched it grew larger and larger. Although he could still not move his extremities, he felt the ground rumble ominously beneath his feet. The light in the sky continued to grow bigger and bigger. Broussard got the impression that he was watching a Titan missile screaming towards the earth from outer space at Mach eleven. Then he felt a thud hit the ground so hard that he thought it would crack the earth itself. The entire complex jumped thirty centimeters into the air and then settled back down into its foundations in a huge cloud of dust. Unbelievably, the main building remained entirely intact.

  And there was now a thirty-meter-tall man standing in their midst. The ground stopped shaking at once. Z prostrated himself on the hard concrete.

  The thirty-meter-tall man spent a minute brushing off the bright embers that a being collected during a routine supersonic flight. The creature's arrival was obviously designed to be a shock-and-awe affair and it was brilliantly executed. Broussard tilted his head back and took it all in. The guy was wearing some nice threads: a black turtleneck with a fitted jacket and matching flares. The ankle boots were so expertly polished that they effectively served as two dark mirrors. Flecks of pulsing light coursed through his pale skin. They formed a kind of sequined skull cap over his glistening bald head. When the tall man was satisfied that his clothing was clean, he turned and looked directly at the two men with indistinct eyes the size of platters. His lips parted and a shock wave struck Broussard with the force of a freight train. The blow should have knocked him unconscious. Yet he remained on his feet and acutely alert.

  The thirty-meter-tall man walked back towards the complex, leaned up casually against one of the building's walls, lit a cigarillo the appropriate size for a giant flying-alien-thingey, and began to smoke. The place soon became suffused with a sulfuric aftertaste, nasty and unworldly. Suddenly there was a horrifying scream and then a beastly rumble from high above as the air was rent in two again. Another giant landed with a teeth-rattling thud. This one wore a robe over a tee-shirt with sandals. The giant sprinted towards the parking lot while the first one grazed Z and Broussard with its enormous eyes. Broussard doubled over from the pain and vomited. The air sizzled and spat a third time. An object like an extremely tall four-by-four rammed itself into the ground. Almost instantly it expanded outward in all directions, taking various geometric shapes until it became recognizable ... as another thirty-meter tall man. However, this one had gold skin. His arrival was certainly less of a shock-and-awe affair than the previous one, but no less commanding. He wore a Japanese hakama and wooden clogs. He was naked from the waist up and his skin glowed and threw off tiny sparks of charged particles from random places. The colossus thudded past the second giant who stood expectantly in the parking lot. As he did so, one flap of his skirt floated outward and brushed up against the other's robe. A brilliant but short-lived flash of electricity arced between them. The second being inspected the smoking singe on his garment and then threw up his arms and roared. Everywhere the air heaved in anticipation of the coming shock wave. Z threw himself to the ground as the invisible stasis field around Broussard quickly grew to encompass his entire body. Before the wave hit, Broussard caught sight of the first giant, who appeared to be focusing his attention out over the lot on some invisible point above the carousel of carnage whirling over Avondale.
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br />   The wave hit with such a force that every first floor window in the complex blew out. Z and Broussard were sent careening into the first row of cars, sixteen meters away. Z regained his senses first and then rushed over to check on Broussard, who was just slowly regaining consciousness.

  "Are you all right?" Z asked with anxious eyes. "Have you suffered an injury?"

  The stasis field fell back down to below his waist, and he was able to raise his hands to feel his aching head. "I'm fine." The field loosened its grip on him somewhat and allowed him to get to his feet. He muttered, "Too many hits to the head."

  Meanwhile, the two giant men had taken opposing positions a fair distance apart. The tension between the two was palpable and ugly.

  "What's happening?" Broussard shouted at Z.

  "Honor challenge!"

  The wind swelled up and carried the scientist's words away. Broussard cupped his hand to his ear. "WHAT?"

  The giants charged towards each other. Their heads met with a great bone-crushing BANG! in the middle. Bits and pieces of light and fogs exploded from their bodies from the collision. Both of the colossi fell to the earth and wrestled each other with murderous abandon.

  Broussard was dumbfounded. "Does everything on this planet want to fight?"

  "Everything fights." He added mysteriously, "Everywhere."

  The two men exchanged glances.

  Meanwhile, the two giants sprang to their feet and darted back to their previous positions, priming themselves for another attack. But before that could happen, a heavy vapor materialized and hung in the troubled air between them. Seconds later, a slit opened up along an invisible seam, and a pink orb about two meters in diameter oozed out. It was rotating at a very high rate of speed. As it did, its smooth clear surface became mottled with streaks of gray and brown.

  Z looked relieved. "The bladder will absorb all of the disagreeable feelings, and then we can proceed."

  Broussard stared as the two battling Titans visibly relaxed and faced the 'bladder.' Z and Broussard stood stock still, as if transfixed. Broussard shook his head in disbelief. "I can't take any more of this." But even as he said those words, he knew them to be untrue. Watching the pink 'bladder' work its magic on two men the size of buildings, he finally realized that this was the new normal: the Never Conceived Of, the Never Seen Before, the Unbelievable running shotgun through his life hand-in-hand with the Unbearable. These things comprised his life now. And he could either accept that fact or pull a pair of bell-bottom jeans over his head like everybody else.

  The first giant thundered right by them and sat down cross-legged near the main double doors at the center of the complex. Then he closed his eyes.

  Broussard looked back at the other creatures, now placid and swaying a bit as if to music. He took it all in and did not reject any of it. This is my life now. Unfortunately, that only gave him a modicum of relief.

  "Are these ... the aliens?" Broussard asked.

  Z began to explain. "They are called Titans in popular culture, but they are Efflin. They are an apex species, and as far as I know, their people have lived on earth since the Jurassic Age, and so are no more alien than you or I. We are honored by his presence." His voice was almost deliberately reverential.

  "He can understand us?"

  "Of course." He looked around. The storm was still rampaging all over the place, but its impact seemed to now stop right outside the perimeter of the complex. And the ferocious winds in the parking lot and the courtyard had come to a screeching halt. An SUV with two people inside flew by, barely missing them. So the storm was still getting through; just not as much as before. "We need to sit down. I have things to tell you and we don't have much time."

  Z hunted down two slightly bent chairs and brought them back. Broussard felt himself gliding over to one of them. His body seated itself.

  "The stasis field. How are you doing that?" he asked.

  Z hesitated. Broussard looked up. The first giant man was looking intently at them again. He braced himself for another sonic blast but it did not come. Instead, the giant merely flicked the ash from his cigarillo and then turned away.

  "That is not for you to know." He sat down heavily in his chair. His natural buoyancy seemed to have dissipated. Broussard mused. Perhaps the outré could be punishing to the outré as well. That thought pleased him for some reason. "Okay. Then why is this gentleman here?"

  Z smiled. "That was an excellent choice of words, my friend." He sighed. "Mr. Fields threw a party for the entire DAT team. The 'gentleman' that you see there is part of that team. Just as much as you or I."

  And now it was time for Broussard and his sedated brain to smile. "Funny. I don't remember bumping into any jolly giants in the hallway."

  Z shook his head. "No, but you are acquainted with some of his work. This individual is a master elemental, licensed to manipulate earth, wind, fire, and water. The official title is Civil Engineer, cap C, cap E."

  "Really?"

  "Really. There are only nine CEs among the Efflin. It is this individual who created the storm for us tonight."

  A real locomotive, trailing plumes of chemical-fueled fire, soared high overhead and slammed face first into a semi-trailer flying in from the opposite direction. Soundlessly. The terrific crash lit up the sky like fireworks. It was like watching a silent disaster movie.

  Broussard chortled unhappily. "Impressive work." He spent another futile minute trying to break free. Then he said, "So how do you two know each other?"

  "The Efflin and my people have a long shared history. I am a Hussar. Do you know what that is?"

  "No."

  "Hundreds of years ago, my ancestors fought for the kings of Poland. We were the royal army. I am the twenty-third generation of Hussars from the Panzer line. Kris is the twenty-fourth."

  "Kris is your son?"

  "Yes. Not my boyfriend as you have so helpfully been telling everyone."

  Broussard mentally squirmed.

  "We were amused," Z assured him. "Nothing more."

  "You're humans? Men?"

  "Of course! We live and die just as you. But we are enslaved to a cause that stretches across time. A noble one, I think."

  Broussard glanced towards the giant. "So you and Kris work with—what is his name?"

  "That is not for you to know."

  "Of course. You say that he's been working on the DAT. How?"

  "As I said, this individual is a Civil Engineer. He does not sit down to design products per se, but rather land movements or weather systems and the like."

  Broussard was beginning to fully comprehend Z's explanation and was thunderstruck. "Or earthquakes." He growled.

  But Z would not be baited into an argument. "Let me back up some. The Efflin appear whenever there are great intellectual leaps amongst mankind. The creation of the MIT represented one such leap. The Hussars and the Shatti folk work with them to assist in bringing about certain ordered events that will produce the best possible outcomes for these advancements. In this particular case, the next generations of this created intelligence, the DAT and now Archangel."

  Broussard grinned crazily. "You and the Shatti folk. Right. Right. And what do you and the Shatti folk get out of this? Money?"

  "The Efflin make sure that the Panzer line continues. What arrangements the Shatti have with them is none of my business."

  "Then you've made a bargain with the devil."

  Z was nonchalant. "We hope not." He shifted in his chair. "Neal, we also work with men. We were assigned to assist you."

  "What? Who gave you this assignment?"

  "The Efflin, of course. We don't arrive at such decisions on our own."

  "Of course not," Broussard replied with mock seriousness.

  "That is why we needed you to give us the order to get the neural code from Patrik."

  For the forty-third time in recent history, Broussard found himself experiencing slack-jawed incredulity. "What??? When did I give you such an order?"

 
"At the restaurant in Avondale. You remember this?"

  "I'm afraid that I do not 'remember this.'"

  Z dismissed Broussard's outrage with an impatient puff of air. "Never mind. We have other matters to consider now."

  "—Because what you're saying is that I somehow caused Patrik's death."

  Z became agitated. "Please! Don't worry about it. What's done is done. Neal, this country has sustained great losses. There have been many, many deaths. But I tell you the truth: they were necessary. Americans have an old saying: No pain, no gain. And that is Truth. Advancement always has a price. And a person, or a people, or even a nation must pay for it. That's a nearly universal law."

  Broussard was barely listening. Out of sheer frustration, his mind had snapped off the conversation that his mouth had been holding with Z and was now investigating the giant man. Man? No. This thing had about as much in common with a man as a man had with a banana slug. And he was certainly no earthling. Of that he was sure. He was an alien. But from where? What type of planet could sustain a race of beings with such physical magnitudes and abilities? The Efflin was now blowing smoke rings into the air. As a boy, Broussard had watched Uncle Curtis do that a hundred times. Broussard felt an odd pull—an attraction really— from the giant figure. It wasn't entirely sexual, although it was certainly that on one level. But the subtext was purely cerebral. As if every question that you had ever asked or every longing that you had ever had could be answered or fulfilled by it. What kind of life would a person have with access to someone like that in his or her life? Better or worse? Part of him wanted to find out.

  "I don't understand this," Broussard complained. "When have we ever needed an engineer who could build tornadoes?"

  "Well, the storm will serve as a catalyst for our next move. Archangel will not be built in America. It will be constructed by the United Kingdom and two other party nations."

  His words floored the entrapped man. "No way!"

  "Neal, the Advance South will ultimately prevail. Not only here, but in many strategic places around the world. And they would never allow true created intelligence to exist under their governments."

  Broussard's building rage was fighting its way through the balloon's sedating effects. "You don't know that! What? Are you bastards playing both sides???"

  "We don't take sides. We are simply trying to advance you from point A to point B."

  "You are NOT taking Archangel from us! WE built the MIT! WE built the DAT! And WE are going to build the Archangel!"

  "WE helped you build the MIT and the DAT," Z replied archly. "We've been with the NASA team and the Lincoln Hills team since the very beginning. We monitored and provided covert assistance to everyone associated with these projects. Including you. You did not see us, but we were there. And when it was time to make direct contact with you, Kris and I were