Invasion | Box Set | Books 1-7

by Platt, Sean

  As you likely know by now, Johnny writes the rough drafts for Realm & Sands. These nutty ideas usually start as some brain-fart-what-if that Johnny likes enough (or at least laughs at enough) for me to massage the concept into a more fleshed-out idea, and then eventually a fully realized outline.

  But Invasion was different.

  This series was born several years ago as a pitch that Dave (my partner at Collective Inkwell, where we write horror and sci-fi, and the children are always in jeopardy) and I gave to Amazon’s 47North, before they published our two series, Z2134 and Monstrous. The pitch then was reasonably close to what the book eventually turned out to be.

  What if we had some rich guy living in New York when news broke that alien ships were approaching Earth? So, like, he’d have to get his family from NYC to some bunker in Colorado. Then at the very end the aliens could come. Like, on the very last page.

  Dave didn’t hate the idea (like he hates most things), but he wasn’t too keen on writing an “on the run” book, nor did he have any interest in writing anything called Invasion if the narrative didn’t have any actual invasions. So yeah, he hated the two things I loved about the idea, which also happened to be the entire idea at the time.

  But that right there is why I love the Realm & Sands audience so much. Writing books for you is FUN. R&S stories are like no others in the world. I know that the crazy concepts conjured up by Johnny and myself, from unicorn-riding gunslingers to robots who are more human than the humans who surround them, to a broken man who flees to a childhood refuge to keep himself from falling apart, only to have his world crumble around him, we’ll unflinchingly find the truth in every story we tell.

  We write inquisitive fiction. Johnny made that term up last year, and I LOVE it. Inquisitive Fiction is EXACTLY what Realm & Sands is all about. Johnny and I tell stories to answer questions about the world, how it works and hopefully why it works that way. We answer these questions for ourselves, using story as our fulcrum, and then we share those answers with you.

  We always, stubbornly, tell our story the way we want to tell it. We’re not obtuse, and we do know that the best way to gather an eager reading audience is to choose a single genre then repeatedly tell gripping stories in that genre, steadily gaining readership with every new release. But Realm & Sands isn’t, nor will it ever be, a single-genre imprint. And even within our chosen genres we’re always going to push ourselves, because you deserve nothing less as a reader.

  Just as there are countless robot revolution stories, but none like Robot Proletariat, sci-fi is cluttered with alien invasion stories, and we wanted ours to be different. So we told a slower, more methodical tale, as much about (missing) human history and who we are as a people as it was about motherships hovering over capitals and blasting the populace into submission.

  Invasion changed a lot from sketch to conception, mostly in the details. Meyer, his family, the Axis Mundi, Mother Ayahuasca, those were all particulars that weren’t born in the original pitch, and never would have made it into an Inkwell title. Invasion’s DNA ended up specific to Realm & Sands. Yet even within the basic framework we knew that there would be seven books in this series, and we always had a solid idea of where that seventh book would go.

  Until now.

  Through the end of Annihilation, everything went according to plan. Then during Judgment, everything started to change. Story direction that we’d taken for granted suddenly seemed like the opposite of where we wanted to go. And we had to keep things tidy because after Judgment, we only have another two books to close the saga. And in that time we need to answer every question while delivering an unforgettable yet unexpected ending.

  That’s a tall order, and we thought we had it.

  But as with most of our projects, our characters and the realities of their world led us in a different direction.

  So while the Invasion saga takes a sharp left about halfway through Judgment and will continue the twist and turn through the end of the series, we’re thrilled with where it’s now going, and think that you will be, too. One thing that hasn’t changed, staying right at the beating heart of this series as it’s been from word one, is all of the ancient aliens stuff.

  Because Johnny and I find this fascinating.

  Our human need for mystery and wonder runs marrow deep, which is one of the reasons that stories are so enduring, and why sci-fi and fantasy have remained at the tip of that interest. So adding intrigue to everyday history has a lot of appeal.

  This interest is naturally stoked by the reality that it’s all technically possible. Likely? Maybe not. But mathematically, there’s an excellent chance that extraterrestrial life does exist. If scientists didn’t believe in that cosmic possibility, there would be no SETI or Kepler satellite-telescope.

  There’s so much in our collective amnesia that we don’t understand. Why were megalithic structures built using rocks weighing multiple tons, and what purpose could they have possibly served? What about the strange structures only fully visible from high in the air? Human civilization and technology seemed to be on a decidedly slow growth curve, until its sudden explosion in the final few moments on mankind’s clock. Humans are at least two hundred thousand years old, but for nearly two hundred millennia we lived as simple Neanderthals. Then, two thousand years ago, the Colosseum, and now the iPhone.

  Ancient aliens theory is like any religion — based on deductive reasoning and the interpretation of primitive drawings, texts, and objects, with no hard facts or testimony that hasn’t been diluted by millennia of constantly decaying oral and written tradition.

  Getting all of this stuff into the Invasion series has been a blast. It’s a totally different type of writing, world building, and story construction than anything we’ve done thus far. Invasion was written as a page turner, and Contact, Colonization, and Annihilation all followed suit to varying degrees. Same with Judgment. But now things are getting … complicated.

  Now, a series that felt like it was perhaps the least Realm & Sands of everything we’ve written has caught up with the rest of our catalogue. Our questions are bigger, the answers more complex, and despite our best planning the story has decided to zig even after we were determined to make it zag.

  And we can’t fall short or leave our answers for the next book. My favorite among our sci-fi stories so far is The Beam, but we get to cheat with that series because we can always delay answers until the next book in our serial. We can’t do that with Invasion, especially not now with only two books to go.

  Judgment had the most surprises for us out of any entry in this series so far. We knew the book was about judgment (obviously), but didn’t know that Peers had called the Astrals early, how exactly the aliens were going to judge us, or what that would mean for Extinction or Resurrection.

  But now we know, and can’t wait to share that story with you.

  Because, dear reader, YOU are the reason we write. Thank you for being part of this journey and encouraging us to tell our stories in our unique way. We can’t wait to blow your mind with these final two books in the Invasion series.

  As always, thanks for reading.

  Sean (and Johnny)

  P.S. Inquisitive fiction can go anywhere. If you have a question you’d like to see us explore through our stories, shoot us an email at help@sterlingandstone.net and let us know your thoughts!

  P.P.S. If you’re enjoying the Invasion series, please leave us a review. This makes a HUGE difference to us as indie authors and will enable us to write more of the books you love. Thanks for your support!

  Extinction

  Chapter One

  Clara didn’t see the point of this.

  The Den’s games were definitely interesting at first, but quickly lost their luster. After playing those first few times, she kept with it mainly because Sadeem seemed to enjoy watching her. She’d turn the simple wooden puzzle cubes through the now-obvious patterns and he’d grow giddy, or she’d move the lights around on the electronic games a
nd he’d gape in pleased astonishment. Clara felt like she was somehow deceiving him: claiming credit for something anyone could have done. But she kept on, because it pleased him, and the others. Though bored, she pretended to enjoy it. And while she didn’t see why the others kept prompting her to play, there wasn’t much else to do down here anyway.

  “You do not wish to turn it in that direction?” Sadeem was watching her with his earnest brown eyes, brows raised. If Clara had to guess, he was probably in his sixties, but something in his manner — or perhaps in his movement — reminded her of someone much younger. A surrogate parent instead of a grandparent, perhaps. He had curious eyes that Clara hadn’t seen in people his age. They said that Sadeem’s mind was hungry to learn anything new — that discovery of something contradicting his worldview would be welcome rather than threatening.

  “Do you want me to turn it that way?” Clara asked in reply.

  She looked over in the dim. The place she’d been staying for the past days had seemed frightening and claustrophobic at first, but was now almost homey. Mullah made the earthen tunnels comfortable. The robe-clad men and women had always seemed so serious when they’d been tailing her topside group, but Clara had never been as afraid as the others, and now it seemed like she’d been right. They were focused, not scary.

  “I do not want you to do anything,” Sadeem said in his metered, precise English. “I was merely inquiring.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, of course. I only wish for you to play.”

  Clara looked down at the puzzle. The thing had been an almost indecipherable knot of small wooden shapes linked by threads when she’d started. It had struck her as being like the Christmas lights they’d strung for a few years in Heaven’s Veil: a mess of gnarled wires, refusing to be straightened. But after playing the game for a few minutes, Clara had seen that there was order to the tangled lines connecting the cubes. It didn’t take long to straighten them before she could reassemble them into a large wooden sphere, and already Clara was halfway there — where it always became worse before getting better.

  Clara looked back at Sadeem. She wanted to ask again, but there was no point. He wasn’t trying to guide her solution, but he obviously couldn’t see it himself. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her play meant something to the Mullah. They weren’t merely eager for the out-of-place little white girl to entertain herself in their midst; her actions somehow mattered.

  She looked down. Saw the next major phase in her mind but knew she’d need to backtrack. So, ignoring Sadeem’s confused expression, she unraveled the puzzle and then began to assemble it again once the constriction was passed.

  “Clara, what made you—” He paused as something boomed from the distance. It was a far-away sound, and his distraction only lasted a second. “What made you decide to approach it that way?”

  “I was just playing.”

  Sadeem looked disappointed. His eyes ticked to the side, and again the ground seemed to tremble.

  “Mr. Sadeem?”

  “Just Sadeem.”

  “Sadeem?” Clara repeated.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve noticed that none of the other kids play these games.”

  “That is not a question.”

  Clara gave Sadeem a look she might have given her mother. She felt the familiar divide form inside. Mom missed her — but didn’t just miss her; was worried sick about her. Literally sick. Sometimes, Clara felt that illness through her mother’s mind. But she was safe here; she knew this was, somehow, where she was supposed to be. It just felt right. And besides, Piper knew she was okay. Clara had seen her wake up inside the darkness like a torch coming alight not too long ago. She could probably talk to Piper if she tried, the way Grandpa spoke to Kindred. She meant to try once this round of play finished. Because there were questions Clara wanted to ask, too — like why she’d felt punched right before Piper had appeared, and Mr. Cameron’s mind had suddenly changed, to become part of something Clara didn’t fully understand.

  “All right,” Sadeem said as Clara held her assessing look, “it is because they are not games for children.”

  “They’re for grown-ups?”

  Sadeem nodded.

  “Is it okay for kids to play them?”

  “It depends on the child.”

  “Me, I mean.”

  “Obviously,” Sadeem said.

  “But why …” Clara trailed off, hearing an argument down one of the tunnels, in Arabic. She’d probably have been able to understand if the speaker came closer. She didn’t speak Arabic, but languages felt to Clara like these puzzles. You just needed to see how the parts fit together.

  “What is it?” Clara asked of the commotion.

  “Nothing to worry about. You were asking about the toys.”

  “Why do you want me to play with them?”

  “Because you wanted to play with them.”

  Clara watched him, considering. It was chicken and egg. She liked to play with them because the Mullah, for some reason, took such joy in her doing so. But without their interest, they barely held her attention. Not the games made of physical things, not the games on the tablets and the computer in what the Mullah (jokingly, Clara thought) called the Nerve Center. The Nerve Center was an interesting place, filled with screens of places both seen and unseen. Clara saw views of the palace (including the occasional shot of her family and friends), but also cities she’d never been to. A place of lush green, of ancient ruins so different from Egypt’s and yet so similar. There was one man, Quaid, who monitored the Nerve Center. Once she’d heard him mention Ravi, the boy she’d met up top and who, Clara gathered, had broken contact with the others. And in that conversation — too whispered to be helpful — she’d heard Quaid mention Peers.

  Clara, watching Sadeem, called him on his crap. “C’mon.”

  “What? You do not believe me?”

  Another booming from above, much larger than the last, came rolling down one of the longest tunnels. If Clara’s sense of direction was intact, it was coming from the palace. In the other direction, Mullah tunnels seemed to yawn far into the desert beyond the wall. She’d considered following them the way she’d once followed what she’d thought was Peers Basara’s dog, but there were always polite guards barring her in the central area. Keeping her with the toys, playing with apparent purpose.

  Shouts — urgent but distant enough to dismiss — followed the boom. A big one, enough to sift dust from the tunnel ceiling.

  “What’s going on?” Clara asked.

  “Nothing unanticipated.”

  “They sound like something’s really wrong.”

  “The fact that it was anticipated does not mean it is pleasant. Or that it will be.”

  “What is it?”

  “Tell me about the games.”

  Behind Sadeem, someone ran by, shouting. A woman, yelling as if giving commands, gone before Clara could try and translate.

  “I think I’m done for now.”

  “Then just explain. How do you see the solutions?”

  “What’s going on, Sadeem?”

  “Let the others worry about that. We will be moving, but nothing should concern you.”

  Quaid rushed into the room, white robes rustling, shouting at Sadeem in Arabic. Clara focused. Saw the words in her head. Rewound her memory, hearing the syllables that had eluded her. She played forward, listening to Quaid at different speeds. She turned the words like blocks. A cypher formed. Unlocked a corner of the language — enough for Clara to get an alarming glimpse.

  “Explode? What exploded?”

  “It’s not your concern,” Sadeem said.

  “You said, ‘Charles.’ Are you talking about Charlie?”

  Quaid ignored her. This time Clara heard “Coffey.” A word with no translation, said in English.

  “Mr. Sadeem?” Clara said, her voice closer to demanding than concerned.
Almost righteous. She heard it herself, and wondered.

  “Return to your games, Clara.”

  But this irritated Quaid further. He raised his voice, and with a greater sample of the language to twist and turn, Clara found herself able to understand even more. She disengaged part of her mind and allowed herself to drift — toward her mother, toward Piper, toward Mr. Cameron. And when she pulled back and spoke again, her objection came in a shout.

  “What happened to Cameron?”

  “Calm yourself,” Quaid snapped. “We said nothing of Mr. Bannister.”

  But Clara hadn’t drawn only from their discussion. She’d plucked that right from Piper’s distraught mind, from Cameron’s absent — or distantly altered — one.

  Quaid continued. Clara didn’t bother to try understanding; his clipped Arabic came out in a string of rapid-fire nonsense. At the end, Quaid’s eyes were huge and waiting. Sadeem’s were wide and worried. Almost frightened.

  “Clara. Gather your belongings. Hurry.”

  “I don’t have any belongings down here.”

  “All the games. Anything you’ve touched. Anything there.” He gestured toward the collection in front of her then kicked a bag , his message clear. “Hurry. Please.”

  Clara wanted to ask but did as instructed. Thirty seconds later she had a bag full of Mullah puzzles plus a cup she’d been drinking from, now drained. Sadeem was behind her, practically shoving, his urgency clear.

  “What is it?” Clara demanded.

  “They cannot see your mind. It is important that they do not see your body down here, either.”