Heart of Annihilation

by C. R. Asay

  “I get it,” Thurmond said. The weapons rattled against each other as human and Rethan sorted through them. “How many do you have? Is this it?”

  Rannen nodded. “And the majority of them aren’t even charged. You can thank Hoth for that—him and his target practice all week. Rethans are, for the most part, noncombatants, so our company has little or no training in the use of arms. Hoth is considered our weapons expert.”

  “We need to set up some ambush locations at the south of the camp.” Thurmond gestured in the general direction he meant. “Rannen, why don’t you grab Hoth and anyone else who can fire one of these things.”

  “I think Deputy Boderick might be able to give us a hand.”

  I thought the little guy was more likely to collapse in a dead faint than shoot someone. The sorting of the weapons, the tactical manner of speaking as these Rethans—these aliens—planned to stun and kill human beings, felt suddenly wrong. Never mind that said humans had already tried to kill me. Never mind that they were descending in an unprovoked attack. We would be fighting humans. Humans wearing the uniform that sported the stars and stripes. Justet told me aliens were here to overrun Earth. Unreliable or no, what if it was true? As a citizen and a patriot of Earth, I felt a duty to ask before committing treason.

  “Hey, uh, Rannen?” My voice barely made it past my throat manifested by the fact that neither of them turned around. I tried again, louder this time. “Rannen?”

  They both looked up and around, squinting into the portal, before their eyes finally found me.

  “Oh, crap. Rose!” Thurmond was over to me in two brisk strides. He squatted and chafed my hand between his to return the nonexistent warmth. “You look like hell.” He pressed his lips together, examining my face. “But still pretty human-looking.”

  Rannen approached. The officiate stepped aside, calling for Boderick like she’d been about to do that anyway.

  “Rannen,” I said again.

  “What is it, Kris?” Rannen shuffled one of the larger weapons from his left hand to his right and back.

  “You,” I swallowed. “You guys aren’t here to take us over, are you?”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Rannen’s head cocked. A tilt of his lips.

  “One of the soldiers told me y-you guys were aliens, come to take over our planet.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Rannen said. Creases of laughter circled his eyes.

  It had sounded much better in my head. I persisted. “So what are you doing here?”

  “The officiate and I had some private business to attend to, but otherwise we’re wardens doing our yearly check of the inmate population.”

  “Oh.”

  The Rethans were lining up near the portal now, whispering and crowding together. Wardens on peaceful terms with our government. Innocent people—even if they were aliens.

  “T, wha-time’s it?”

  He snapped a look at his watch. “Twenty-oh-eight. You done?”

  “No.” Water dripped into my eyes. My body shuddered in misery. I rotated my jaw in an attempt to get the words to come out better. “Officiate says she needs me . . . but won’-say why.”

  Marshal Rannen’s silver-white eyebrows dripped water onto his cheeks. “The portal is supposed to be powered constantly, and can only hold a certain amount of charge with the kind of power you’re giving it.” I sensed his irritation was not directed at me. “It will need another charge or two to be able to get everyone through.”

  “Ah.” The bitter realization settled deep in my chest. I let out a bark of mirthless laughter. “I guess I ought to go recharge myself then.”

  Rannen glanced at the officiate working a few feet away and then said softly, “Why don’t you just give her the dimensional catapult?”

  I shrugged. “Why aren’t you making me?”

  Rannen’s face went blank, and he didn’t respond. Thurmond studied me, his jaw muscles taut. I stared back, trying to look strong and in control of myself. After a moment he addressed Rannen.

  “You have any more of that serum?”

  “No!” Water sprayed from my lips. “No way!”

  Thurmond ignored me. “Rannen?”

  “Thurmond,” I pleaded. “Didn’t you see what it did to me?”

  “Yeah. I saw you could walk around and get out more than two words without sounding like an eighty-year-old smoker.”

  “And I almost volted . . . I was . . . I—”

  “Rose.” Thurmond rubbed water from my cheek with his thumb. “You charge that portal again in your current state, and it’ll kill you. I don’t understand what weird attachment you have to that coin thing, but you’re going to have to pick between the coin and the serum.”

  My will to fight flattened into a one-dimensional object of no substance. I didn’t respond.

  “I’ll have Deputy Boderick bring another syringe.” Rannen nodded. “You can decide.”

  “It’s going to be fine,” Thurmond said to me. “Rannen has a plan. We’re going to get you to a medic, and everything will be okay.” He released my hand and pushed back to his feet, gathering a few weapons from the crate before disappearing into the rain.

  I dropped my eyes away from the intensity of Rannen’s look. My gaze landed on his thumb, which was hooking under a familiar-looking black strap strung across his shoulder. As if sensing my focus he pulled the M-16 off his shoulder, and held it by the muzzle.

  “D’ya know how’ta use that?” I asked.

  He grinned and shook his head. Water sprayed from his hair.

  “Can . . . c-c-could I?”

  He laid it across my lap. “Stay safe, Kris.”

  Without another word he grabbed several weapons from the crate and followed Thurmond. I watched the rainy darkness, catching a glimpse of his silver hair over by building twelve as lightning flashed. Then nothing but rain.

  I hitched myself straighter against the tower leg. I lifted the shoulder strap of the M-16 over my head and drew the butt of my rifle under my injured arm. I clicked off the safety and flicked the switch to a single-round shot as opposed to the semi-automatic function.

  One shot. I had one shot. One shot. One shot.

  I couldn’t think of anything else. What if I used it too early, or worse, too late? How do you decide that it’s the moment?

  A banging noise drew my attention to the hand-scanning panel. Officiate Lafe was once more at work.

  “All right, Shevla. You first.” She gestured to the huddled line of Rethans. An older female broke away. Officiate Lafe almost tripped over my knee. She gave me a scornful look before returning her attention to the portal. Shevla placed her hand on the panel, allowing the light to scan it. Then, without a backward glance, she walked into the blue screen of light. Her face and knee disappeared first, making her look like she’d been cut in half vertically. Then she was gone. The metallic world rippled through the blue of the portal, but no figure showed on the other side.

  “Next!” The officiate hollered. Her fingers flew over the screen again. The next in line stepped up. I dropped my eyes. This was going to take forever.

  The roar of motors could suddenly be heard over the zapping of the portal. For the first time the heroic rumblings of US military vehicles filled me with dread.

  Here we go, laughed the voice. Hollow, delighted. Bring on the blood.

  CHAPTER 20

  Caz

  6 hours pre-RAGE

  The dome of the Dimensional Congressional Council building, the very heart of Retha, rose above Caz. Its multi-metal stripes glistened in the overcast light. She didn’t marvel at the design as everyone did, not the shear enormity of the structure nor the massive amounts of foreign materials needed to complete it.

  This was former Commandant Ben Attikin’s greatest accomplishment. His glory. It had even been named Attikin Dome in its day. Of course, that was before the laws of etiquette and serenity. Before he was exiled. Before it was turned into a simple government building for the self-important council. Now it w
as the centerpiece of the plaza, housing building upon building of offices, museums, assembly halls, and theaters. A veritable cathedral to all the refinement, culture, and etiquette Retha could afford.

  Caz stared at the DCC building’s entry doors, sheathed in electrical webs designed to keep out the weather and little more. Her heart maintained a calm, steady beat; her breathing was a quiet rush in her ears. The history of the building, the magnificence, none of it mattered to her. What mattered was that this was the last place she had seen Vin alive.

  Rethans flowed past her, going about their important business, placid smiles pasted on their stupid faces. What Caz wouldn’t give for them to drop their pathetic masks and show the emotions she knew were screaming to get out.

  They wouldn’t. They’d been too controlled their whole lives. Brainwashed into believing that etiquette and serenity kept the world from falling apart. And yet even here in utopia, someone you loved could still betray you or die, and no amount of serenity could make it right again. She’d see if they could maintain their uniform composure when they were running for their lives.

  Caz picked up the larger of the two almost identical bags resting near her feet and took a step toward the building. With a jolt she collided with a passerby. The older gentleman’s bag thunked to the ground and tipped, spilling the meager contents.

  “Oh dear,” he said, offering a stiff smile. “My deepest apologies, madam.” He bent creakily over his cane in an attempt to reach his bag. “Rough day.”

  “Am I having a rough day?” Caz looked at the time indicator imprinted on the inside of her wrist. She had four minutes.

  “No. I’m having a rough day. The roughest. Do you call a marshal when you’re feeling rough? No, ma’am. They give you the shuffle off, tell you to meditate, talk to a friend, visit the market of tranquility.” He managed to snag the handle of his bag, but a half a dozen round packages of standard fare soy protein rolled away from him. “Don’t they know that all that doesn’t work when you get to be my age? You need a quick fix of serenity or you end up screaming into pillows, or kicking your pet, or scaring your wife until she starts to talk about getting you exiled.” He abandoned his escaped packages with a shuffling kick. He stared at her in what could have been construed as a glare, if his eyebrows hadn’t forgotten over the years to contract in anger. “They give you attention then, oh yes. Threaten you with RAGE, and I look at them and say, ‘fine by me.’ I could use a do over. And then I get a fine for back talk, a shove off, and a few minutes later find myself run over by a pretty lady who wants to tell me how she’s having a rough day. You don’t know what rough is, sweetcakes! No one does anymore.”

  Caz grinned at the old anomaly of a Rethan. She retrieved his squishy spheres. The wrapping crinkled in her hands. She shoved them in his bag and then brushed past him. She was halfway across the plaza before she turned back. He was watching her.

  “You might want to clear out, grandfather.” She adjusted her fingers on her larger, much more important bag. “Your day will only get rougher if you don’t.”

  His lips puckered, but Caz turned away before he could say anything more. She was almost to the door of the DCC building when she heard his voice again, carrying over the chatter of the flowing crowds.

  “You left your bag, sweetcakes!”

  She grinned over her shoulder, touched her chin, waved it toward him in a gesture of thanks, and then pushed through the web covering the entrance.

  Another glance at her wrist. She stepped through the lesser crowds of busy congressional workers and positioned herself behind one of the twelve stone columns adorning the dark vestibule. The stone was cold on her back. Stable, secure, protective. She would be safe here.

  Exactly one minute and four seconds later an explosive boom heaved her from her feet. Electricity burst around her, leaping in jagged currents through the air. The power crackled out of the building, searching for the source in Caz’s abandoned bag. There would be casualties within the localized blast radius, but other than those few the greatest damage would be to the surrounding infrastructure. That device was a basic, miniaturized prototype of the one in the bag she cradled, and yet held none of the elegance and subtlety.

  Screams echoed around her, and sirens from the outside. Caz crouched behind her column. As the hall emptied Caz closed her eyes, letting the horrified sounds of terror fill her. Outside the building any vestiges of Rethan serenity had been obliterated. With the loss of this control, perhaps anarchy would finally reign.

  Caz heard a dragging sound coming from the front doors, heavy breathing, and then a thump from the other side of the column. She’d thought she was finally alone. Apparently not.

  A deep red pool crept toward her from beyond the column. She watched in fascination as it spread. Caz touched the pool with two fingers. She tapped the blood with her thumb and rubbed it into her palms, where it etched deep crimson lines into the folds of her skin.

  She hadn’t expected blood, at least not this close to her—not yet. Caz stayed where she was, listening as the breathing panted along. Then, with a gasp and a sigh, silence.

  She rose to her feet, calmly rubbed her hands together to disperse the blood, and then wiped the remaining blood onto the legs of her pants. She looked at her wrist and picked up her bag.

  It was time to meet the council.

  CHAPTER 21

  Rose

  A single gunshot shattered the air.

  My eyes flew open, the natural instinct to duck forcing my shoulder to slide off the tower leg. My hands and rifle splashed in the mud.

  The line of Rethans condensed into a roaring mob. Hands reached over me, trying to get to the hand-scanner first. Cold treads of white boots struck my arms, legs, and chest. I protected my head with one arm, unable to move or even cry out as my damaged body was knocked and pummeled. A rather vicious kick to my mouth, and I tasted grit and blood.

  “Enough! That’s enough!” The officiate bellowed, a hammer of sound that demanded respect. “I said enough!”

  The feeling of churned waters settled. Boots shifted from foot to foot. I peered past my arm. The officiate gave two Rethans a prompting shove and waved off the rest.

  “Get back in line, or I’ll send you to help Marshal Rannen and Deputy Hoth!”

  The Rethans submitted, although with a great deal of complaining. An especially baleful-looking fellow stepped backward, his chin thrust out. Not angry exactly—his face couldn’t seem to unflatten—but perhaps angry for a Rethan.

  I pushed myself from the mud, drawing my rifle closer to my body. Warm, coppery blood filled my mouth. I spat. The officiate reached into an inside pocket of her uniform and drew out two large, identical syringes.

  “You might want to use one of these right now.” She stretched out to hand them to me, not bothering to lean over far enough for me to reach. “We’re going to need another charge before too long.”

  I struggled onto my knees, swiping my sleeve across my chin, and spat again before fumbling with cold, wet fingers for the syringes. The second they left her hand, the officiate turned away.

  “Next!”

  Several Rethans jostled, and one broke free. He put his hand on the panel before the others could untangle themselves. If my mental count was correct, this Rethan made only three that had gotten through so far. Three out of twenty.

  I squeezed the syringes. Hateful darkness saturated my mind as thoroughly as the rain drenched the rest of me.

  Forget about the drones, snarled the voice. Worry about yourself.

  I muttered under my breath, “Shut-up-stop-talking-to-yourself-I’ll-do-what-I-want,” and yanked off the cap of one syringe with my teeth. I let the other fall onto my lap. The enormous needle shook like a twig under gale force winds. Once—twice—three times I tried to jab it into my leg. I succeeded on the fourth. At once I felt the overwhelming rush of not only electricity and adrenaline, but also the ferocious anger stabbing into my brain.

  Damn that Marshal Lafe. Cur
se her to hell.

  “Marshal Lafe?” I whispered. “The officiate?”

  Officiate. Marshal. Whatever she’s calling herself these days.

  I had to stop talking to myself. Although it didn’t feel like a one-sided conversation.

  The heavy bam-bam-bam-bam of an M-249 SAW silenced my thoughts. A hum and a strange zipping sound from the Rethan weapons responded. The M-16s were getting in on the action now. Quite a few by the sound. The bursts from the south of the camp were still far enough away that I knew they hadn’t taken the hill yet.

  A grenade exploded somewhere not far from the southern buildings, spraying up a funnel of mud. The Rethans hit the ground, crying out in terror. The fear of leaving the line again and being sent to fight was apparently stronger than their fear of being shot here. Aside from the scattered piles of crates, not close enough to be useful, the entire line of Rethans was woefully exposed. The officiate sent another Rethan crawling through the portal.

  The weapons fire was so close now that flashes of fire could be seen exploding from the rifles. A single bullet dinged into a stack of crates not far from us. I ducked. The face of the closest Rethan came into focus. He was an older male, with a lined face and wide, frightened eyes. His silver hair was plastered against his head. Mud spattered his face, but his lips were set in a curve that hinted at frequent laughter.

  My mind flashed to the time my dad had gotten his leg stuck under his truck. A tire had blown when he’d been working somewhere out in the field. When he’d tried to repair it, the truck had tilted off the jack, trapping him under the axle. I’d panicked only after he’d missed dinner, and I hadn’t found him until he’d been stuck for several hours already. I remembered his eyes peering into my flashlight as it swept across his face. The fear had drained from his face, and his mouth had pulled into a pained grin. From fear to hope.