The Star Chronicles: Book 01 - Battle for Earth

by Rod Porter

  “Don’t touch me.” Troy jerked his hand away.

  The soldier grabbed him again. This time Troy fought back, but he was no match for the soldier and his three reinforcements. They wrestled with Troy. Bringing him to his feet, one of them used a coated garrote wire to choke him, as the other three shoved him out of the cell and down the corridor toward the blast doors. Once they exited the holding area, they moved at a furious pace. The pressure against Troy’s neck from the wire gave him no opportunity to resist, and he kept pace with the soldiers.

  They were now rushing through a tunnel-like corridor. The ground was very unstable, and it was…alive!

  The floor had a pulse. It moved in unison with the slimy, scaly walls as if it were breathing. The walls and the floor were contracting in and out, just like the lungs and stomach of a human. His four rescuers did not seem surprised by the bizarre surroundings, but they were not pleased that the end of the tunnel was closing off.

  “Shit,” one of the soldiers said. He pressed the button on his chest and spoke into a radio inside his hood. “Mother nest, Mother nest. This is squall three.” The other three released Troy while their apparent commander relayed his message to headquarters. Two turned back the way they had come and pointed their guns in expectation of enemy pursuers. The third took out the bolt cutters that had been used to breach the cage and approached what Troy had taken for another closed blast door. However at second glance, he realized that this was no door. It had rows of teeth. This tunnel really was alive.

  “Primary exit from playpen one compromised,” the team leader continued into his radio.

  The soldier with the cutters snapped a tooth off the mouth, producing a high-pitched squeal that made Troy cover his ears. The floor and walls ceased their pulsing and locked up until the screech of pain stopped, only to be replaced by gunfire from the two resistance fighters who were covering the rear. The resistance fighter with the cutter snapped a second tooth and the corridor released another howling screech, but this time the mouth opened.

  “Mother nest squall three exit breached.”

  The leader’s transmission cued their mad dash out of the corridor. The two firing soldiers backed out slowly, continuing their gunfire. Once they were all outside, Troy saw the soldiers point their weapons down and fire into the living corridors throat. The tactic worked, as the pain caused the living tunnel to lock its jaws, sealing off whatever was following them. But they arrived at another tunnel that stank with such an unbearable odor that for a split second Troy considered going back. The floor and the walls were identical to the previous tunnel except that they were not moving. The five men were hauling ass when one of them fell through an apparent sinkhole that opened up and swallowed him. The remaining three soldiers did not seem surprised that the ground had just taken their comrade, and they did not slow down until a tentacle reached through the ceiling and wrapped itself around Troy. Before it could pull him up, one of the resistance fighters had his arms wrapped around Troy’s thighs, using his body weight to fight the tentacle’s attempts to pull Troy up to the ceiling.

  Suspended in the air, Troy looked backwards to see four soldier aliens approaching, shielded by their biomechanical suits of armor. He saw that the aliens were being riddled with bullets, and he realized the other two soldiers had turned back to aid their fellow soldier in freeing him. The soldier aliens produced a force field around themselves, causing the remaining bullets to fall harmlessly to the ground, but they could not return fire with their shields up.

  Finally, the resistance soldier who was pulling on Troy’s legs handed him a knife. “Cut it,” he said. Troy did, and the tentacle’s purple blood spewed through the air. As Troy dropped to the floor, the other two fighters ran out of ammo. Troy’s savior ripped a grenade from his vest. The soldier aliens released their shields now that the gunfire had ceased, but with their shields down they felt the effects of the grenade’s explosion, giving time for Troy and company to make it to the end of the tunnel and close it off again.

  Troy and his friends found themselves in a darkly shaded room. It resembled a large hotel lobby in size. They moved over to a corner of the room and waited, grateful for the sudden silence.

  “What are we doing?” Troy whispered in the quiet dark.

  The leader quietly spoke into his radio. “Mother nest squall three. In position at rendezvous twelve. Say again good to go at rendezvous twelve.”

  Troy was getting very anxious. His chest was heaving in and out, and he thought he was going to throw up. The leader’s hand reassuringly touched his shoulder. It reached around his head and pointed across the room at a pair of large double doors. The doors exploded inward. A group of twelve or more resistance fighters entered through the doors, blasting away at the soldier aliens that fell into the room through the slimy, cobwebbed ceiling. Troy’s group took full advantage, using the diversion to get to the door at the back of the lobby.

  Once inside, they faced a service ladder that went upward a hundred feet at least. The leader wasted no time climbing it toward the seal that was at the top. Troy and the others were right on his heels. When the leader reached the top, he tried to turn the circular access wheel that locked the manhole-style seal. It was no use. He couldn’t turn it an inch. So he went to work on the edges of the circle with the blowtorch that one of the soldiers handed him from below. Troy had to look down to keep the sparks from flying in his eyes.

  The blowtorch was handed back down the ladder when the leader was through. Instead of opening the hatch, the leader spoke again into his radio. “Mother nest, squall three. In position at extraction four. Say again good to go at extraction four.” He waited a moment. “Copy that.” Looking down he said, “Move out.”

  The group climbed out of the manhole into the outdoor area of the prison camp. The rush of fresh air on Troy’s face was intoxicating, and the brightness of the sun he had not seen for months blinded him. The temperature was below freezing, with several inches of snow on the ground, but it was still fresh air. His elation quickly turned into absolute awe as he saw the main source of the stiff breeze. Dozens of Black Hawk military helicopters were descending through the air towards them. He had thought that human technology of the sort no longer existed. These men truly were gods.

  The choppers landed in the thick snow. The wind shear worked in conjunction with the harsh weather, creating a frostbiting breeze. Troy became aware of the other escapees running to the choppers with their black-uniformed rescuers. He felt pride at the resistance’s efficiency and preparation. Their technology and their audacity in defying the aliens were overwhelming. His rescuers grabbed him by the arm and ran toward one of the choppers. They boarded it, joining several escaped prisoners. It was impossible to hear anything over the propeller noises, but all one needed to do was see.

  Here they were, freed prisoners of all ages, races, and backgrounds. They were huddled together, trying to fight off the cold, anxiously waiting for the helicopter to take off and get them as far away from this place as possible. One young child in particular caught Troy’s eye. All he could think about at that moment was the son he had left behind. Now, as far as he was concerned, this child he was looking at was his own, as were all remaining children. It was going to be Troy’s future role with the resistance to protect them. There was a resistance fighter on the side edge of the helicopter manning a Gatling gun. She turned to the pilot and gave the thumbs up.

  The chopper began its ascent. The escapees on board watched as the white landscape underneath them got further and further away. It was disheartening to leave most of the resistance soldiers back on the ground while they flew to safety. The chopper passengers watched as the prison compound released waves of sentinels. They sped toward the resistance fighters. Screeches coupled with gunfire tore through the chilled air. Sentinels poured out of the compound in large numbers, morphing into their monstrous vertical human positions. The resistance fighters would have no chance against the mammoth alien machines. But the tabl
es were turned when the prison compound exploded. The sonic boom that the explosion created caused turbulence against the helicopters, but the pilots handled it like pros.

  The explosion had ended the outpouring of sentinels. The remaining ones were now in their vertical positions, walking around like giants, mowing down several of the fighters. Suddenly, groups of them exploded, just as the building had. From the helicopter, Troy turned to see a formation of tanks advancing into the kill zone, their tracks leaving long prints in the snow. The sentinels were no match for the heavy artillery; the remaining few went into a full retreat.

  A convoy of Humvees painted black rolled up and sped around the tanks. Up in the helicopter, Troy was horrified by the number of bodies strewn over the ground. Blood-stains were clear even from the high altitude as they mixed in with the white snow. When the convoy arrived, the resistance fighters piled themselves and as many of their fallen comrades as possible into the vehicles. The convoy and the tanks turned east and sped off. The choppers headed the same direction.

  THE UNCONFORMED

  As broken and empty a man as Troy was, he still felt overwhelmed by what he had experienced in the past few hours: the realization that there was a resistance and that he could now be part of it. He had seen technology thought not to exist anymore: helicopters, tanks, radios. Despite all he had seen at the prison camp, the Unconformed had saved the most breathtaking piece of their arsenal for last. Troy and the other escapees nearly fainted when they saw the two full-size submarines resting in the water off the coast of the remote island where the helicopters had landed. It had taken an hour of flying for the choppers to touch down on the secluded beach.

  On the sub, Troy and the other freed prisoners took stock of their situation. They had been so caught up in the prison break that they had lost perspective on how grim the state of the human race was, even outside the prison walls. The looks on most of their faces sapped Troy’s spirits. Here he sat with a bunch of strangers. Most of them were sick due to lack of hygiene and diet. The large mess hall they were confined to stank horribly of their dirty bodies. The hated stench of the work pits was in the air.

  The feeling that these soldiers were here to protect them unconditionally had been diluted once they entered the submarine. When the fighters arrived at the prison camp, they had seemed like white knight freedom fighters. Here, however, they seemed forbidding, even intolerant. The soldiers on the submarine were all outfitted with the same uniform, save for gas masks that covered their features instead of the black hoods. Other than the occasional “move along” and a nudge, they said nothing. They seemed to watch the freed prisoners a little more closely and grip their weapons a little more tightly. After they had isolated everyone in the mess hall, they posted guards at the only entrance.

  Some people tried to engage them in conversation. It turned out that there were other rooms with other rescued prisoners. Most people inquired about friends or loved ones.

  Troy had no such desire. He had lost his whole world. He gritted his teeth as his face contorted in anger. Then he thought about his cellmates. Maybe they had gotten out. He was certain Jackson had. And what better way to sign up for the cause than to link back up with him? But Troy knew he would have to sit and wait. Wherever they were going, something told him it was going to be a less than relaxing trip.

  ***

  Troy asked no questions when a pair of gas-masked guards had come into the mess hall asking for him. He could not wait to leave the foul stench of the prison camp. They told him to follow and he did. After several twists and turns down the narrow, vault-like corridors of the sub, they arrived at a door with two guards posted on either side. The guards nudged Troy inside and closed the door behind him. He found himself in a modest but professional office. A desk made from some kind of fine wood sat at the center of the room with a black chair behind it. There were some photographs posted on pegboard attached to the wall. Bookshelves filled with books were lined up against the far wall. To the side of the desk was a long, rectangular table with computers and all sorts of electronic equipment on it, including a ham radio of some kind.

  Troy had never been in a room like this. It was almost too cosmopolitan for him to accept. Humans weren’t supposed to dwell in such sophisticated and comfortable surroundings; it encouraged thought and a sense of possibility. He walked over to the desk and noticed a picture frame resting on the corner. He picked up the picture and turned it around. The photo inside the frame was grayed with age, but he could just make out the figures of a small boy and what appeared to be his father.

  “What do you think?”

  Troy recognized Jackson’s voice immediately, so he wasn’t surprised when he saw the soft-spoken resistance fighter come out of a small room in the back. He had a bathrobe on and a towel draped over his wet head.

  “Boy, it felt good to wash that place off. You’re more than welcome to use the shower if you like.”

  Troy was taken aback yet again. “You have running water?”

  “Yes,” said Jackson. He was not surprised that Troy was in awe of this.

  Troy’s awe quickly turned to anger, as he finally took stock of his surroundings. “You sit here in your comfortable office, just out of a fresh bath, and those prisoners you freed are mixed together like farm animals in the mess halls.”

  “What would you have me do? There are hundreds of them. We don’t have the facilities to take care of all their needs. Some of them are infected with viruses, carrying diseases that are contagious.”

  Jackson motioned for Troy to take the seat in front of his desk as he sat down. “You have to understand where we’re going, Troy. We are going to Jade. Jade is not just some colony. It is a city. The greatest human city in existence. Ground zero for the resistance. It is home to everything we are trying to gain back that once made our societies great: government, education, culture, economy, politics, science. We cannot risk one of these people bringing in disease they contracted in the work pits. If a pandemic were to threaten the safety of Jade, it would put a major hold on everything that we have accomplished. Not to mention kill a chunk of the population.”

  “Who are you?” asked Troy. “I mean, you’re obviously a soldier, but…”

  “I’m a general. I lead the Unconformed follow.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Jackson said. “I take my position seriously and know that with my power comes equal responsibility. I have no desire to be a ruler of the people, just to make them free again.”

  Jackson gestured to the picture frame Troy had looked at. “See that man in the picture with me? He taught me how to fight, how to think and survive. He taught me how to lead and the number one rule of leadership: in order to lead, you must know how to follow. The plague took him from me. One night, a roving sentinel…Well, I don’t much like to tell the story. But all of my troops have lost so much.” Jackson paused. “Just as you have. I’m sorry about your family, Troy. Deeply.”

  “Thank you,” Troy replied. “What about Mick and Tommy? Anything?”

  Jackson did not attempt to hide his disappointment. “They didn’t make it. We did a head count and they’re not among any of the passengers. I was told that they never made it out of the cell blocks.”

  “Damn it!” Troy slammed his hand on the desk.

  The room went quiet for a moment.

  “You need to channel that emotion.” Jackson broke the silence. “Summon the sorrow and hate and regret into the pit of your stomach, and release it when you fight the enemy. We will take from them what they have taken from us tenfold.”

  A lone tear rolled down Troy’s face as he realized that the aliens had now taken every single thing that he had ever known: his family, his wife and child, his colony, and now his only remaining friends.

  Jackson got up and walked around the desk to sit in the chair beside his dejected friend. “You have unbelievable strength inside you, and you are a good man. Will you join us? I would
like you under my command personally. You have all the makings of an officer.”

  Troy looked up at Jackson. There was a mutual respect and a bond that was now stronger than oak. Jackson was the only person in the world Troy knew, and the sense of brotherhood that he felt at the prospect of being taken under his wing was intoxicating. “So I’ll get to strike back at these things?” he asked.

  Jackson smiled. “Fuckin’ A.”

  The two shook hands.

  “Now go use the shower,” Jackson said. “You smell awful.”

  JADE

  After a couple of days, the submarine finally reached its destination. The city of Jade was apparently only accessible by traveling underwater. The subs maneuvered under a low wall and surfaced at the rocky banks of an old sewer station. Troy followed Jackson and some soldiers. They were the first people off the ship, and they were greeted by a small committee. One man stood at the head of the small group. Troy could tell at first glance that there was something different about him. He was older, probably in his late sixties. The man had a thin frame and grayed hair.

  His dress theme was a style and make that Troy had never seen the likes of before. A gown-like ensemble was draped over his shoulders. Its color was mostly purple, and the back end of it dragged behind him like a cape. The man approached Jackson and Troy with two similarly-dressed younger men at his sides. “Welcome home,” he said embracing a reluctant but tolerant Jackson. There was a mock sincerity to the man’s tone that he had not bothered to hide. This struck Troy. The feeble-looking man must carry some real weight to flaunt such a carefree-almost mocking-tone in the face of the leader of the army that clearly ruled this city.

  “I feared for your safe return, young man,” he continued.

  Jackson had no desire to converse. “My people aren’t the best soldiers on the planet for nothing.”

  “Indeed. My prayers were answered as God no doubt was with them in their mission.”