The Never Army

by Hodges, T. Ellery

  There was a total of fifty-seven men brought in.

  “Per the plan, we started extracting them before we launched our operation at the Facility,” Anthony said. “They’ve all been yanked out of whatever normalcy their lives had. A lot of them didn’t know that there were others. Of those who did, most knew little of the full scope of Heyer’s operation. A few have heard your name.”

  Jonathan nodded knowingly.

  “You don’t look surprised,” Anthony said.

  “These were the men he knew to be under surveillance. On a good day, Heyer tells people the absolute minimum they need to know. I can only imagine how in the dark this first group is.” Jonathan glanced through the glass where Heyer rested on the other side and sighed. “I used to hate him for it, but now that things are escalating . . . I understand the necessity.”

  He turned back to Anthony. “Moving forward, protocol doesn’t change. Anyone with a device, other than Heyer or myself, is on a need-to-know basis.”

  Anthony nodded. “We’ll get away with that for a while. But a lot of these guys aren’t the docile sort. We shouldn’t let their imaginations go too long without any answers.”

  “It’s on my ever-growing to-do list, Mr. Hoult. Tonight, there is something I won’t put off. Make sure everyone we’ve brought in has a bunk and a meal.”

  Anthony nodded and Jonathan turned to go, but he barely made two steps before a thought stopped him. “Since they were brought in, has anyone disappeared?”

  “One,” Anthony said. “His device returned to the Armory earlier this evening. They . . . they all knew what it meant. No one panicked.”

  Jonathan took a long breath. “What was his name?”

  “David Scholtz,” Tony said.

  Jonathan was quiet for a long moment, looked as though he were chewing on this information. “Where are they now?”

  On the table in front of him was an empty pack of Funyuns and a giant orange rubber spoon duct-taped to a bathroom key. Sam figured that there was a gas station attendant in Alaska that thought he was a pretty huge tool by now.

  While Sam wasn’t sure where he was, he was certain he was still on Earth. Like everyone else, he’d arrived on a platform surrounded by flood lights in the middle of a forest clearing. Shortly after, he’d been escorted here, a room that reminded him of his high school cafeteria. Though, from the number of currently unoccupied seats, this place was meant to feed a lot more than currently present.

  There were a few doors in and out. They weren’t guarded and Sam didn’t feel like a prisoner. Yet, no one had tried to leave. If everyone was like him, then they knew they had been brought here for something important. Perhaps, wandering off into the wilderness in the middle of the night might be something to consider after hearing what that reason was.

  As everyone around him was a stranger, he sat by himself at a table. He wasn’t alone; many of the others seemed more comfortable by themselves. He kept his head down, tried to observe without drawing attention.

  All men, but no one looked under eighteen or over forty. He got the sense that many had a military background. Some looked like they’d been brought here in the middle of active duty.

  They seemed to have come from all over the world. Sometimes clothing made it obvious, other times Sam realized it when they spoke. The one thing they all had in common was that they arrived with teleportation sickness.

  Some weren’t comfortable alone. They grouped together and spoke in whispers. From what Sam overheard—if they were speaking English—the road that led here tonight was similar for everyone. They had been contacted by someone calling himself Mr. Clean—an agent of the alien. The men that had escorted them into this mess hall had been dressed in combat attire. They hadn’t said much. Only that they were safe, the sickness would pass, and that everyone needed to sit tight and wait for orders.

  A while had passed now since there had been any new arrivals.

  There wasn’t a lot of conversation now. The room had been quiet since one of the strangers disappeared. Until tonight, Sam hadn’t known there were others. Now he was in a room full of people he knew had understood. A man, just like them, had been killed by a Ferox inside The Never. None of them had ever witnessed it firsthand, but they all knew. Otherwise, a man disappearing like that would have caused panic. If they were like him—they’d just found out they weren’t alone and there was already one less of them.

  Before this silence, there was a name that Sam had heard amongst the whispers: Jonathan Tibbs. He didn’t know who the man was or why they spoke of him.

  Not long after the disappearance, the doors opened and three men walked in. He recognized the two that took places on either side of the door, they had been amongst those who had been at the platform when he arrived. He’d never seen the third. The man looked like he’d had a particularly rough evening.

  He was in all white clothes, smudged with dirt and blood. He had a fresh cut over his eye that looked like it had just been sewn shut. Sam could hear his bare feet on the floor until he reached the center of the room. He stopped, his eyes slowly passing over each of them.

  He held up one hand, the gesture one that seemed to say bear with me a moment. A few seconds later Sam felt a twitch in his chest.

  No, come on! Not now! The worst damn timing ever! He thought.

  As he looked around the room, he saw this thought reflected on the faces of everyone. Like every last one expected to collapse to the floor as their implant activated. Yet, to Sam and seemingly everyone else’s surprise, the seconds kept right on ticking away and no one dropped.

  He did feel something though. A chill crawled up his spine. Just as that experience might have become unnerving, he looked to the man standing at the center of the room and saw he still held a steadying hand.

  He didn’t say the words, but he looked as though he was aware of what was happening and wanted them to know they were safe. To stay calm. The sensation finally passed, and the man waited for the room to shake the feeling off.

  Finally, he spoke.

  “The other day,” he said. “I was activated. I had to go deal with this Ferox, as one in our occupation must from time to time . . .”

  He paused, and it seemed a strange place to do so, but he looked as though he were testing the room. Sam noticed that over half the men now looked back at him with wide eyes. He felt left out, like he was missing something, until a stranger sitting at the table behind him whispered, “entendí.”

  Sam didn’t speak Spanish, but then he heard his own internal voice say, “I understood.” He smiled, because he had a pretty good idea what had just happened. He’d heard the words of the Ferox translate. This was the first time the words of another human being had done so.

  “So,” the man standing at the center of the room went on. “I get into it with this big red bastard. At first, nothing out of the ordinary. But it isn’t long before I realize—damn—he’s a talker.”

  Some of the men were nodding now.

  “I can tell that at least some of you have been there. You’re fighting an extra-dimensional monster . . . and he won’t shut the hell up.”

  Sam smiled, mostly in a disarmed sort of way. After a weird night, if felt like he was watching a stranger do stand up.

  “Now, if you’ve been there, you already know what the Red was dying to tell me?”

  “Il suo nome?” one of the men sitting closest to the man asked. His name?

  “That’s right, my friend,” the speaker said. “It took him awhile, he really had to build up to it. But finally, he says it . . .”

  The man shook his head. “I am Soils the Ground.”

  “He says it with that pride they have, as though, surely I’ve heard of his exploits and am now starstruck. But, in my head, the translation is odd, you see I hear the words, but I get this sense of them. Like, the real meaning of this Red’s name is . . . Craps on Floor.”

  More smiles cracked on the faces sitting around the room.

  “Sore
de anata wa nani o shita nodesu ka?” another of the strangers asked. So, what did you do?

  “I kept a straight face,” the man said. “I was raised to be polite, and Mr. Poops on Floor is very proud. He asks me: have I been given a name? So, I look back into those white eyes and I tell him . . .”

  The man paused, then shrugged. “‘Yeah, they call me Breaks the Wind.”

  Sam laughed.

  Some of the faces looked a bit confused. He figured it meant one of two things. Either the Human to Human translation had some of the same flaws as the Ferox to Human, or some of these men were just in no mood for fart jokes.

  When those who did laugh quieted, the man stood straighter. The change wasn’t abrupt, but he looked thoughtful, and his tone went from light to serious.

  “If you’re in this room, I know what you’ve seen. I know what they’ve done to draw you out. To get to you. Everyone here has one thing in common. At some point, a big blond alien showed up. Ever since, you’ve been fighting monsters no one else knows exist.

  “Tonight, most of you are finding out you aren’t alone. Knowing this, you’re all wondering the same thing. Why are we all in this room? Why now?

  “The Ferox call me Brings the Rain . . .”

  Sam’s eyes widened. Brings the Rain . . . the Rain Bringer. He’d never really known what the hell the Ferox were talking about. Mostly they asked if he knew The Rain Bringer. Sam didn’t know if the man was real, or some legend. He’d never been altogether certain that they were even talking about a human. That said, one thing was always clear, every Ferox wanted a piece of this Brings the Rain. They all wanted to be the one who killed him.

  Sam wasn’t alone. Other men around the tables wore the same look of recognition.

  “My real name is Jonathan Tibbs. Most of you have never heard . . .” Jonathan said.

  He trailed off on that thought, looking around, to each of their faces.

  “But I am the one who brought you here. I couldn’t give you much warning. Whether you’ve been aware of it, you were each being watched by your government. I had to get you clear and had to do so in such a manner that by the time the first of you was reported missing the last of you was already safe.

  “Now, I know the question you all want answered is why? Why are we here now?

  “You’re waiting for me to say it—but you know the answer. Ever since you started killing monsters, you knew it couldn’t go on like it was. One day the Ferox would come for Earth and they weren’t going to form a line and let you take them on one a at time. You were certain that if you lived to see that day, it would be your last.

  “I thought the same thing. But turns out, we were only half right. You see . . . the Ferox are coming, in force, and they intend to wage war.”

  He let that sink in for a bit.

  “But, yesterday, you and I were alone. Tonight, everything changes, and tomorrow we gather the rest of our brothers from all over the world. Starting now, we are no longer a temporary stop gap. We aren’t a shield between the Earth and the Ferox.”

  His voice grew louder, “We are no one’s last stand. You are the first to whom I make a promise. Fight with me, and we will destroy the gates forever.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  JONATHAN LEANED HIS forehead against the tile. Warm water washing away caked blood and dirt. For a moment, his mind went luxuriously blank.

  He sighed, because even with his eyes closed, he sensed the light come on in front of him. “Mr. Clean, let’s restrict interruptions to emergencies while I’m in the shower.”

  “My apologizes, but you instructed me to wait until you were alone.”

  He groaned. “That, I did. Just let me get clothes on for this.”

  A moment later, a trail of wet footprints followed him out of the shower to a row of lockers. He’d opened one at random. They all contained the same supplies: toiletries, and various sizes of everyday clothing. All practical stuff Anthony’s company bought in bulk to stock the location.

  The second Jonathan reached for a pair of boots, Mr. Clean’s avatar appeared once more. The display was large, felt like a full-length mirror had appeared over the lockers behind him, except when he turned to look Mr. Clean was the reflection. He raised an eyebrow at the AI. “Is this really so important it can’t wait for me to tie my shoes?”

  “The woman,” Mr. Clean began. “After her injuries were dressed, she was taken to a holding cell.”

  Jonathan winced. “They locked her up?”

  “Beo reasoned you wouldn’t want a government agent wandering the facility,” Mr. Clean said.

  Jonathan considered. “That’s . . . fair enough. Thank you, I’ll see to her as soon as I can.”

  “Forgive me, but her imprisonment was not the more urgent matter,” Mr. Clean said.

  “What is it then?” Jonathan asked.

  The AI seemed to hesitate. “Heyer is not yet conscious. In our previous exchanges I’ve failed to speak of individuals with whom you possessed an emotional attachment with the proper finesse. I fear—”

  “Just go ahead, Mr. Clean,” Jonathan interrupted, as he started lacing a boot. “If your delivery leaves something to be desired, I’ll get over it.”

  “Yes, well, she was a mystery. Even the records from The Cell’s servers we obtained regarding her identity were quite incomplete. Everything they knew about her was listed under her alias: Leah McGuire. Their file indicates that she was an outside contractor brought in over Olivia’s objections.”

  Jonathan listened, nodding as he finished lacing the first boot and began on the next.

  “However, because of her injury upon arrival, she bled on me. I took the opportunity to isolate a DNA sample . . .”

  Jonathan’s hands froze on the laces.

  “. . . to confirm her identity.”

  Jonathan didn’t say anything. After a few seconds, he took a long breath and continued to lace his boot a bit more slowly.

  Mr. Clean continued. “I ran the sample against all known databases to locate a match. I did find one, but the record was not in a human database.”

  Boots tied, Jonathan stood slowly as he closed the locker door. “I know who she is, Mr. Clean.”

  The AI stared back at him, miming a look of curiosity.

  “I don’t know every detail,” Jonathan said. “Her shadow told me enough to get the picture.”

  A second screen formed alongside Mr. Clean. On one, Jonathan saw Leah sitting in her holding cell. Mr. Clean zoomed in on her face and froze the image. On the second screen, images of a young woman dating back years began to scroll by. Mr. Clean was running a facial recognition program but slowing the operation enough for Jonathan to see the process.

  “Her eyes haven’t changed,” Jonathan whispered.

  “These are images of Rachel Leah Delacy,” the AI said. “As you can see, she has undergone significant cosmetic reconstructions.”

  “She told me physical alterations were required.”

  “You still seem surprised.”

  Jonathan looked at the younger girl. “I . . . I didn’t realize the scope.”

  “The physical changes were primarily to keep facial scans, like the one I’m performing now, from being successful. However, given the nature of her mission, it’s fair to assume basic psychology was the secondary motivation.”

  “Secondary motivation?” Jonathan asked.

  “Humans are statistically faster to trust those they find attractive,” Mr. Clean said. “She was intent on extracting information from you.”

  As he understood what the AI was suggesting, a smile met with a grimace on his face. Chagrin unhidden as he nodded. “Yeah, she only mentioned the first reason.”

  After a moment of silence, Jonathan found the AI’s avatar watching him. Mr. Clean wore a cartoonish attempt at sympathy. Then again, Mr. Clean was a cartoon.

  “What?” Jonathan asked.

  “I’m detecting that you feel a lingering sense of humiliation after having trusted an undercove
r agent. I thought, perhaps, knowing I failed to identify her as well might alleviate the sense of shame—”

  The AI trailed off as Jonathan’s expression melted into a glare. “I’m fine.”

  “I calculate an eighty percent chance that you are being insincere, likely due to previously stated humilia—”

  “Mr. Clean,” Jonathan interrupted. “You found a matching DNA profile while The Cell couldn’t. Why?”

  “Rachel Delacy was previously a person of interest to Heyer. My on-board files can only be deleted by myself, the same is not true of any human database. However, hiding her identity in the human world was by no means a simple computer keystroke. It was a process that was planned out and implemented incrementally over two years following the reported death of Rachel Delacy.”

  “Her shadow said her death was staged.”

  “Yes, but rather impressively. Convincing enough that neither Heyer nor myself questioned the fatality’s legitimacy.”

  Jonathan shrugged. “Why would you. People die all the time.”

  “When a person we are actively tracking dies, we investigate the events,” Mr. Clean said. “However, Rachel Delacy was confirmed dead by suicide. We failed to scrutinize the event because, sadly, the outcome was not wholly unexpected. Months prior, a series of unfortunate events had resulted in her seeking psychiatric intervention.”

  Jonathan studied the AI for a moment. His head tilted as though he’d just now realized something. “Mr. Clean, are you embarrassed that she managed to move in next door to me without either of you noticing?”

  His avatar displayed an appropriate degree of indignance. “Heyer did notice something familiar about her. But she was three years older, had undergone dramatic physical—”

  Jonathan held up a hand to stop him.

  “It’s okay, Mr. Clean,” Jonathan said, then with a touch of smugness. “I understand that certain psychological mechanisms were leveraged against the two of you.”

  Mr. Clean was silent for a moment.

  “I believe I now understand why my previous attempt at sympathy may have come off as condescending,” Mr. Clean said.