Zosma

by Jason Michael Primrose

  “I would think after what your planet has been through, you would learn deceit gets you nowhere,” Zosma said, following her lead and moving closer. A hair taller, glaring down, she countered, “I will hide. Not behind a disguise.”

  Her stiff hand gestured over Zosma’s body and landed on the Z-bands. “How do you expect to live like this? With those?”

  “I saved this world from its greatest threat.”

  Exhaling, Florence placed her hands on Zosma’s shoulder armor. “You’re its greatest threat.”

  She meant to say “we.” From the public’s perspective, take physiological traits off the table and the signifying difference between her and the alien princess was the damage they inflicted. As a collective, the recognizable aliens and the unknown descendants were the other, their categorization, irrelevant nomenclature.

  “Bottom line, an alien’s an alien. Whether it’s you or Neight or Dylurshin, and goodness knows what else is out there. It’s all the bloody same.” She let her hands drop and walked to the table. The velvet box returned softness to her tone. “The goal is for us to be allies. I made a promise to Dolores. I have an obligation to look after Allister, you, and now the 175 million Americans left, plus the entire free world.”

  “So, are we your prisoners or your soldiers?”

  Florence glanced over her shoulder and replied, “Depends on how well you cooperate.”

  Mrs. Gibson shrieked. Her eyes darted at the ground, the nearest escape, and the purple alien woman. “I’m sorry I interrupted. Dr. Myra Eberle is here to see you.”

  “I’ll be there shortly, Mrs. Gibson, please get her some alkaline water or espresso, thank you.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And Mrs. Gibson. Next time, request entry.”

  “Yes, Vice President Belladonna.” The executive assistant ducked away.

  “I am already Leesa Delemar, aren’t I?”

  A rather cruel reality check on Florence’s part. Telepathic manipulation had guaranteed anyone Zosma encountered saw Leesa Delemar, not an armored princess.

  “There’s no reason people should be afraid,” she said, staring at the closed door. Her assistant’s short-term memory erased, she turned to Zosma—

  In mid-transformation, three fingers became five, and her eye color changed to the Z-energy’s blue. Violet hair darkened to autumn brown. Lilac skin turned olive, and golden armor melted into the Andromeda Project uniform that Leesa died in. The energy faded.

  “With great power, comes great sacrifice,” Zosma said in Leesa Delemar’s rough voice.

  Florence saluted her. “Welcome back, Lieutenant.”

  Allister Adams

  Two plots of land. Dolores Adams on the left. Patrick Adams on the right. Allister may not have known what Neight told his parents about the responsibility running through his cellular structure, but success depended on his choices; his choices depended on his ability to seek understanding.

  Florence had said he needed closure. Lackluster creativity bore engraved headstones, empty caskets, and a private ceremony. Traditional. Sincere. Fiscally responsible. As a registered superhuman under the CIA, Allister and “Leesa” had been relocated to a property in Northern Virginia. Far enough from the military city to keep him sane, and close enough to keep watch on what happened there. Agent Allister Adams on permanent standby in a world of fractured democracies, civilian unrest, and superhuman terrorism.

  Allister crouched to touch the dirt. Intertwining fates had already brought the children of Andromeda together, though, true motives and morals were to be revealed. He expected the coming adversity to show where alliances were strongest, weakest, and non-existent. Friends sometimes became enemies, enemies sometimes became lovers, a neutral party, like Dr. Rabia Giro became an unstoppable behemoth. A temporary win wasn’t worth celebrating.

  He returned to the modest single-story house. Maintained acres concealed them from the outside world and the nearest neighbor was two to three miles away. Just like home.

  Leesa sat on the kitchen island reading the daily Cynque news.

  He closed the door behind him. “You know you don’t have to wear that stupid costume in the house.”

  “You miss Lieutenant Delemar?” she asked, lowering her arm.

  “I don’t need a reminder of what I’ve lost,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck with soft kisses. “I’d rather cherish what I’ve gained.”

  “An intriguing philosophy. I enjoy bearing witness to your mental evolution.” Trouble twitched in her eyes, as she morphed into her alien form. Zosma rested a fused finger on his cheekbone’s highest point. “If Neight has been sent to Andromeda’s Sanctuary, he will be punished.”

  No sooner than the final touches completed on her three-toed feet, both his hands encircled her waist. “Your father’s survived worse, right? He’ll make it back... right?”

  She curled to his reassuring embrace. “I have never witnessed anyone, save for Dylurshin, survive the wrath of the Aenecan king. Either way, Vor and his armies will come. Because it is me they wanted all along.”

  Epilogue

  Dylurshin Hexforth

  Castle Infinity. Eroter City, Planet Aeneca, 400 B.C.E.

  Hundreds of rooms, heavenly high ceilings, and hallways of grandeur painted with tales of the universe—the fundamental elements of Castle Infinity. To be inside Castle Infinity, could only be an honor or a curse. An honor to serve there, to stay there, to be born into the royalty they possessed. A curse to be a criminal there, in transition to exile in one of their prisons.

  From a sky-scraping tower of prisons to an open room lined with Aeneca’s best soldiers, Dylurshin Hexforth was dragged through the castle’s beauty. The Zaian slave felt honor, knowing his vengeful deed could bring down all that surrounded him. But victory was heavier than Dylurshin thought. A bodice of magical particle compression chains wrapped round its thin neck, wiry arms, and torso, spiraled into a metal skirt covering its bent legs.

  The win was delivered, though immediate satisfaction and freedom were left out of the package. Dylurshin rested, weighed down by its thoughts—paralyzed by its concerns. Would they kill it? Aenecans were as infinite as they were unpredictable and treacherous. Marching. Chanting. Weapons clanging against armor.

  “Where is the demon!” someone yelled. That someone was Vor, Prince of Aeneca, ruler of Andromeda. Young but powerful, naive but arrogant. The massive hall’s entrance shimmered away. The prince was unarmed, clad in golden armor, his straw yellow hair tied in a warrior’s ponytail. Blue veins traced his flexed arms, and a lighter shade of blue skin stretched over a domineering athletic frame. Nearly twenty-five feet tall, Vor stopped behind the creature beneath him, and his army stopped behind him.

  Dylurshin stared at the ground, until both scarlet colored eyes moved upwards alongside a triumphant grin.

  The expression sent Vor into an impulsive rage, and he gripped the chains. “You are an abomination. I will give you the foulest punishment you can dream. You will not see Zellatris Rose or the Z-energy as long as there is light in my body.” Vor tossed Dylurshin to the floor.

  “A terrible attack on the ego of your people, to know the Uragonian Queen prefers a Zaian slave over an Aenecan royal,” Dylurshin jested.

  Vor stepped around and marched down the parted row of soldiers. “Zellatris was manipulated by your influence into doing unthinkable deeds.”

  “She was manipulated by you and your father into marrying Taldykin. To merge the families and establish your hold over Andromeda. I only opened her eyes to the truth and helped her discover her potential.” The creature paused, adjusting to increased discomfort. “You knew what she was. You just wanted the energy tamed, so it wouldn’t harm you.”

  To defeat an Aenecan was challenge enough. To kill one, a feat once believed impossible, had been perfected and performed. According to reports and surveillance, the act occurred during an Aenecan’s most vulnerable time, rejuvenation. Black smoke invaded the castle. And under a stra
nge influence, no one reacted, no one moved, and the Queen of Uragon, Zellatris used her immeasurable energy to destroy the Aenecan king particle by particle, atom by atom, until he was no more than the stardust he’d been born from.“Are there any more of you left?” Vor asked. Bulging arms clasped behind his back, he tipped on his heels, and stood a front the throne occupied by his father less than two star cycles ago.

  “I am the last.” A traitor. A murderer. A scientist. An explorer. A list of credentials worth raised eyebrows, and enough mischief worth severe punishments.

  “Have you ever wondered why that is?” The soon-to-be-king twirled to face Dylurshin. “It is because you are vermin. Meant to be stomped out to avoid infestation. My father should have killed all of you, but his pity overruled his duty as king. I will not suffer the same mistake. I cannot kill you,” Vor admitted, “I can, however, make sure you never get to finish what you started.”

  “Aenecans are poison!” Dylurshin screamed in protest, trying to dematerialize beneath the magic chains. “I know your secret. The one you hide behind your demigod virtues and robust politics. You have this entire establishment believing an Aenecan can do no wrong.”

  “An Aenecan can do no wrong,” the prince repeated in a conniving tone. “That is why you will be exiled to the prison planet in the outer sectors of Andromeda’s sanctuary. It should bring you nostalgia and peace to exist at the edge of the Milky Way. It is where your people came from to begin with.”

  “Our people, it is where our people came from.”

  Vor scoffed.

  Xonden, the prison planet, a barren desert of a world with a cruel queen—it followed an obscure path around a tiny yellow star. Only one other planet in the system held life, a planet called Earth.

  “Dylurshin Hexforth, you are guilty of treason, exploitation, and falsities, against a royal of Aeneca. Not to mention facilitating malicious acts against Andromeda’s Sanctuary, and the supreme governing member of its institution. You will be escorted to Xonden, and live out your days in permanent exile,” Vor decreed. “You leave on the next cycle.”

  The Aenecan army disbanded, melting like wax statues into the floor, leaving Vor and Dylurshin alone.

  “These chains can’t hold me for eternity. Even in your pomposity I know you know this.”

  “I have enlisted the help of the other civilizations to create a Temporal Chamber especially for you. It will be ready by star fall.”

  “A worthless exercise, prince. If it is not Zellatris, it will be another,” Dylurshin said. “Know this, if you know nothing else—your best endeavors will be spent manipulating the Uragonian people into thinking they are your allies, when you seek only their elimination. I vow to you, Vor Vegacent, you will see me again and when you do, I will have Z-energy in my charge and destroy you with it, as Zellatris did your father. The Aenecan Empire, falsely believed to be Andromeda’s Sanctuary, will fall.”