“Ladies and gentlemen, like you, I have just . . . witnessed this incredible . . . press conference, and . . .”
The anchor’s face showed two effects. First, the incredible event that had just occurred had shocked him, and second, he was unable to comment on it in any real way. He palpably didn’t know if he should believe it. But it could easily be real, a thought that raised a deep inner terror ready to engulf him. He tried to pull himself together.
“And I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t know what to think.”
He tried to show a confident smile, but all that came of his effort was a perfect alignment of bright white teeth in a crumpled face. At that moment, Porter was petrified. He was gradually realizing that this couldn’t be a hoax. On the other hand, he had a duty not to fuel the panic he imagined among the most credulous viewers.
“How can we believe all of this is possible?” he continued in an overly dramatic tone. “Who are these beings? And if they’re real, what are their true intentions? Once again, dear viewers, let’s wait until we have confirmation from the military authorities—who are certainly more competent than I am. They can confirm the reality, or not, of this incredible press conference we have all just witnessed.”
He was about to move on to the other news of the day when a message abruptly interrupted the show. It flashed on the screen, indicating a technical problem with U-Earth Channel 1. A report on the benefits of synthetic high-protein food aired in place of the news. A report sponsored by Scientech Laboratories.
October 29, noon UTC
U-Earth Channel 1 convened on a single stage the generals who had ratified the global armistice in effect since September 2. John Porter didn’t anchor this lunchtime broadcast as usual. Instead, according to scuttlebutt, some young journalist had replaced Porter permanently. The truth later surfaced that the special militia had executed John Porter. The incompetence he had shown on the evening of the press conference was the reason put forward for this punishment.
During this program, all senior military officers confirmed their support and collaboration with the species officially named Hominum primus. The new anchor asked one of them to define the term Hominum primus more clearly. The American general responded casually that this translated from Latin as “First Man” and meant that these creatures were at the root of the human race. The anchor then asked Russian General Oubaiev to define the “common objective” of human military forces and these entities.
Oubaiev stated, “Any authority with the right to legislate and exercise power over a defined territory—in this case, the Earth—has an ultimate goal. In this case, it is to organize the community of living beings of that territory into a system of unity, work, and constructive exchange. These entities, as you call them, are the source of life on our planet. It is reasonable that they have the right and the duty to govern the living things they themselves created.”
The anchor asked the relevant question, “Don’t you think that for many people, this could look like an outright invasion of our planet?”
The same Russian general answered with unassailable logic. “An invasion is the seizure of a territory by an external or foreign force. In this case, Hominum primus was present in the area well before man made his appearance. So I ask you: Who is the real invader?”
41
Meadow Creek base, Idaho: November 24
“The child is ready.”
“And the mother?” asked Coyote, one of the base leaders who would be taking part in the operation at the last crypt.
“She is too,” replied the young resistance fighter. “She’s a real warrior. She’ll fight to the end if she has to.”
“That’s true. I could see the courage in her eyes. She’s not the one I’m worried about. It’s that child . . .”
“His metabolism has mutated again,” said the young man. “It’s different than it was even two days ago.”
“We know what those creatures are capable of. Maybe they can see though his eyes, right at this very moment. Have you seen his eyes?” Coyote asked.
The young resistance fighter was silent for a moment. “Yes. There’s no longer anything human about him.”
Coyote observed the young man. He sensed fear in him. He had felt it too when he saw the child.
Matthew was no longer a baby whose little hands grabbed the fingers of adults who tickled him. He was only four months old but already the size of a sturdy teenager. As the days passed, his skin, which had been amber from birth, now had black patches. They had first appeared on his back and gradually spread to the rest of his body. His bone structure had begun to change by the second week. Growths had deformed his joints, making them massive and stronger. Each vertebra had elongated, and some sort of black spurs of bone now ran along his spine. His arms and legs had extended, giving his body a slim morphology. At his chest, the ribs protruded and formed a fleshless bony cage sheltering pulmonary alveoli that pumped air directly to its source. His entire body seemed clad in half-bone, half-mineral armor, which consisted of an extremely resistant, shiny black exoskeleton. His jaws and sharp teeth were those of a predator. His two big jet eyes twitched with sharp movements, like two dark windows onto a soul unknown to men and surely also unknown to himself.
Lauren had accepted him as he was, and as he was becoming, like any loving mother would have accepted a physical condition or disability in her child. She loved him with all her heart and had never for a second felt the slightest doubt about her devotion to him. A powerful bond united them. It went beyond the simple human condition. She could feel what he felt. She could almost guess what he was thinking.
Matthew was training with the other children, who had accepted him as one of their own. His physical and mental abilities were well above average. He learned very quickly. In a few weeks, he had learned how to read and write. Handling a revolver had become a game for him. He could dismantle and reassemble his Sig P226 in less than a minute blindfolded.
Coyote went to visit Lauren. When he entered her tent, she and her son were huddling together on a makeshift couch made of patched cushions. Outside, the cold wind rushed into the cave and swept through the winding streets of the base. A fire crackled in a metal barrel transformed into a heating stove.
“Good evening, Lauren.”
She woke from her semi-sleep and greeted him. “Coyote. How’s it going?” She smiled at him.
“Things have progressed. We’ve finished the mission logistics. We’ve checked and approved the plans for infiltrating the crypt one last time. How are you doing?”
He looked at Matthew dozing in his mother’s arms and tried for a moment to see some resemblance between them. But the child no longer looked like a child. Curled up in a fetal position, he looked like a tangle of carbon tubes, an unrecognizable shape.
Coyote felt a wave of revulsion when the boy stirred and stretched his arms as he woke up.
“Hello, Matthew,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”
Matthew answered by nodding his head. He had learned to remain silent. He only spoke when he had to. Although his human language was perfect, he preferred not to use his low voice with its oddly deep inflections. He had repeatedly observed the reactions of his young classmates when he spoke to them. Socially, Matthew was already a responsible and conscious being. He knew his physical appearance would make things difficult for him. But he also knew that, one way or another, he would adapt to his condition. Painful sadness already marked his heart. He felt like he didn’t belong anywhere. His abilities, which developed a little more every day, pushed him to isolate himself even more from the young humans. He suffered from being different.
Coyote came to sit beside to him.
“Do you know what everyone on the base calls you, Matthew?”
He shook his head.
“They call you ‘The Savior.’ Old Alden, do you know who he is?”
The child nodded.
“He’s started writing The Memoirs of the Dawn. They’ll be like t
he Bible of the resistance. Your name will be there, in the chapter describing our greatest victory—the one we’re going to win in Siberia.”
“It will be an honor for me.” The words surged from the depths of his soul, like the roar of a young lion.
A smile lit up Coyote’s face. He laid his hand on the child’s shoulder. “It’s also an honor for us to have you on our team, Matthew.”
He spoke to the boy’s mother. “Can I talk to you for a few moments, Lauren?”
“Yes, of course. Matthew, go study in your room.”
The young creature left the room without a word.
“Do you want some coffee?” Lauren offered. “I’m going to have some.”
“Yes, please.”
She got up and went to the kitchen. The resistant carefully watched her movements. She had recovered all her strength since giving birth, which had seriously weakened her. She returned with cups of coffee and handed Coyote one. She sat back down and took a sip of her own. He gazed at her with the blue eyes that shone from his craggy face. He and Lauren had developed a casual friendship. He reminded her of her father, at least the vague memory she had of him, since she hadn’t known him well.
“Lauren,” said the base leader.
“Yes.”
“I won’t hide the fact that this mission involves risks.”
“Didn’t you just tell me of the plan’s approval?”
“Yes. But there’s still some uncertainty.”
“About what?”
“The crypt’s surveillance—apparently, they don’t guard it heavily. The place is already isolated and inaccessible, below the surface and way out in the Siberian Plateau. So they haven’t committed much of their staff to it.”
“But?”
“But we still don’t know much about their technology. For example, we know they can communicate through telepathic channels, but we don’t know how it’s biologically possible.”
“Are the guards there human?” she asked.
“Yes, they’re Adepts. But Hominum primus can read their minds.”
“Ideally, we would want to get into the crypt while avoiding detection,” Lauren observed.
“We plan to create a diversion and take advantage of the time they leave the crypt entrance unattended so that Matthew can perform the ritual for the opening.”
“What kind of diversion?”
“We’ll start a fire in their complex, three miles from the crypt.”
“There’s no guarantee they’ll leave their positions,” Lauren noted.
“No, but chances are they will because they use the complex for their housing. They won’t let their stuff burn without taking action.”
“That does seem likely.”
“Once we’re in, it’ll be a cinch,” Coyote asserted.
“Do we have maps of the crypt?”
“Yes, an agent from the Rajpur base was able to scan the underground area and create a highly accurate map. It includes about sixty miles of tunnels and caverns as large as entire cities. This is huge compared to the crypts we’ve seen so far.”
“How far below the surface does it go?”
“About twenty thousand feet—a well goes all the way to the bottom.”
“Rappelling down nearly four miles will take some time,” Lauren said.
“Not really; we’ll free fall in. Once we’re at the bottom, the team will split in two. One group’s task will be to place a series of winches on the cables we will have thrown into the hole before the jump. This will allow us to climb out quickly.”
“While the other group plants the explosive charges,” Lauren guessed.
“Exactly. The bottom of the well is close to the large chambers that lie at the base of the entire structure. That’s where we’ll place the charges.”
“How powerful is the bomb?”
“The main charge is twelve megatons. It will trigger the explosion of eight other charges, each one a megaton, arranged in a circle around it.”
“In other words, we’d better be very far away when it blows up!” Lauren exclaimed.
“We’ll go into the area by snowmobile. To leave, a helicopter will be waiting for us ten miles to the east.”
“How many resistance fighters will make up the whole team?”
“There’ll be eight of us, including you and Matthew.”
Lauren took another sip of coffee and looked interested. “You’re pretty serious for amateur guerrillas,” she joked.
He gave her a playful smile and jabbed her with his elbow.
Outside, the sky was gray and overcast, and the wind was still rising.
Coyote drained his cup. “Your coffee’s delicious.”
“Thanks.”
“Lauren.” He looked at her gravely. “How are things going with Matthew?”
“Why are you asking me that?” she replied.
“I know it’s natural for you; he’s your child. But—”
“But he’s a monster, is that what you mean?”
“I’m talking about you.”
He put his hand on hers.
“Since he was born, you’ve withdrawn into yourself. You’ve refused to see the shrink on the base, and you haven’t told anyone how you really feel, deep down.”
She was listening to him, but her eyes were staring at the narrow alleyways of the base outside the window. She did her best to repress the emotions overwhelming her and turned toward him.
“Listen, Coyote, I’m doing fine—and the boy too. He is what he is. He’s my child; do you understand?” Her eyes glistened with the tears she was holding back.
“Lauren, I know what it means to be an FBI agent. I was one in my time. I know you won’t let anything affect the mission—our mission. But Lauren, I’m also your friend. And you can talk to me, that is, if you want to.”
The mere words seemed to make her feel better. She took a deep breath. But she said nothing.
He didn’t push.
“Okay, Coyote. Thank you. That’s good to know.”
She patted his hand.
“I’ll be fine, thank you,” she added.
They smiled at each other.
“Did you talk to Matthew about the mission?” he asked.
“Yes. Of course.”
“How is he taking it?”
“Very seriously.”
“And how are things in his mind?”
“It’s hard for him to understand what he really is,” Lauren replied. “He conceives of himself as a child and rejects his body and appearance. He wants to be like the others. I’m afraid that as he grows up, he’ll suffer more and more from his difference.”
“He’s growing fast. It may take a little longer for him to realize he has greater abilities.”
“Sometimes it scares me to see him eat. His need for meat and blood grows each day. I wonder if there will be any limit to that or if he might be capable of attacking someone.”
“His nutrition is tailored to his body. He’s a Sentinel, Lauren, the perfect fusion between the Elders’ species and our own. He’s unique. We’re convinced that he’ll serve humanity, just as his father would have, to the very end.”
She stared at him. “Eliott is still alive. I’m sure of it,” she declared.
Coyote saw all the love she still had for Eliott in her eyes. “In that case, we’ll do our best to find him,” he reassured her.
“They’re probably holding him near the crypt. Isha the shaman had a vision of a jail in a cold, hostile place swept by snowstorms. There’s a bond between Matthew and his father, the same shamanic bond. Several times I heard Matthew call to him in his sleep; then he talked to him. Do you hear me, Coyote?”
She now let her tears flow freely on her flushed cheeks.
“He was talking to Eliott as if he were right next to him.”
“Hang in there, Lauren.” The resistance fighter put his hand on her shoulder and hugged her to him.
She gave in to her heartache.
“If he’s i
mprisoned at the Siberian base, we’ll bring him back with us,” Coyote told her again.
Lauren replied by nodding her head between two shudders while still crying in his arms.
42
Eight of its most powerful strategists now represented Hominum primus on the United Nations General Assembly.
Chinese and Russian nuclear attacks had flattened the building that had housed the UN’s headquarters on Manhattan’s East River. The replacement headquarters were now in the Middle East neighborhood of Baltimore. They had chosen the John Hopkins University of Medicine building for its many meeting rooms. The decorum and parliamentary harmony that had unified the United Nations representatives had disappeared. It had given way to the terror of the diktat the Order of the Adepts had imposed. Murders and kidnappings punctuated the daily routine of human political leaders. The Order of the Adepts exerted unbearable pressure on all members of the United Nations, including threats against their families and close surveillance of their every move. The militia used any means to bend the opposition to the new world order. Their short-term goal was primarily to establish global political leadership under the aegis of the United Nations. Independently, the Council of Elders would then exercise their decision-making power and approve, or not, the UN’s proposals.
But to assert its authority definitively, Hominum primus had to demonstrate its strategic supremacy. Opening the last crypt would resolve this issue by permanently crushing the last opponents in the field.
The world market had now dwindled to so-called essential production. The large firms secretly controlled by the Order of the Adepts exercised a monopoly in every sector. The Elders’ economic policy moved toward purging production so they could gradually install their own system based on their very advanced technology. In the society of Hominum primus, the human individual would soon occupy the role of servile worker. At least, those who survived the wave of mass deportations to the large extractors would. The overlords would confine people in industrialized megacities where they would spend their lives working. On a global scale, they would harvest fifteen percent of the human population each year to feed the extractors. Feeding on man was simply a basic necessity for them. The horror of their actions was lost on them because they were devoid of any empathy or sense of paternity.
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