Glyph

by T. M. Catron

  Glyph

  T.M Catron

  Antimatter Books

  Glyph is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Antimatter Books

  Copyright © 2017 by T.M Catron

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.tmcatron.com

  Book/Cover design by Dark Matter Designs

  License Note:

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by T.M Catron

  Chapter One

  Fearing she was too late, Calla sped through the forest, her broken arm tucked uselessly into her side. Because of her injury, she compensated with more power from her torso. Running, jumping, and even climbing with her one good arm. Trees were a blur of green and brown. Gray rocks appeared as if they had sprung out of the ground. Tall brush whipped Calla’s body, punishing her intense speed through the valley. If she had sprouted wings and flown to the mine, she couldn’t have made it there faster.

  She sensed time ticking. Waited for the unmistakable sounds of retribution and annihilation. Any moment, a Condarri war ship would descend and destroy the mine.

  Why hadn’t Condar attacked it yet?

  They would be hunting her. But they should have already attacked the rogue hybrids in their hiding place at the mine. Was it over? Had she missed it?

  She pushed harder, running down the valley until the mountain forced her to climb. Everything hurt, but especially her arm, even with the splint. Since the bones had separated, it was useless at the moment. Blood, leftover from her battle with Doyle, caked on her face. Calla's fight with him and her brush with death had left her exhausted.

  And ashamed. Was she a traitor?

  No.

  Yes.

  Calla ran faster, expecting each moment to see an attack ship overhead, to have the aether whisk her into the air. She concentrated on finding the mine, reaching the rogues. One hundred of them to command.

  As long as she got there first.

  Where had Doyle gone? Maybe he’d already found them. He was their leader after all. She almost stopped at that thought. But she would never know unless she checked.

  Out of curiosity, she summoned his ship, the Nomad. But it didn’t respond. Either it was out of reach, destroyed, or Doyle still controlled it.

  How had he fought so skillfully with the aether? He’d held off at least twelve Condarri at once, along with their ship. Calla shuddered in awe. She had never imagined such power in a hybrid.

  What had happened to him? With that kind of strength, he could go anywhere. He could have flown the Nomad to another solar system, but he wouldn’t know where to go. Doyle's group wasn’t exactly equipped for space exploration.

  That meant he wasn’t far. How would he hide the ship?

  The Factory ship was empty. He and Calla had killed everyone aboard. With a rush of victory, Calla realized it was exactly like him to return there. He would want the technology. With his increased power, Doyle would find a way to confine the aether they had set free there.

  But if Calla figured it out, so would her former masters. Perhaps that was why they hadn’t attacked the mine yet. Destroying the small band of rogues was insignificant compared to catching Doyle. Although he had held off a warship, he would not be able to contend with the full might of Condar. It was a warrior race, after all.

  Calla climbed over a ridge, winding around until she saw a barren valley laid out below. The warm air smelled of earth and moss and trees.

  Out of all the questions burning in her mind, Calla wondered why Doyle hadn’t killed her.

  She had wanted him to. Since the invasion, Calla had failed every mission she’d been assigned. She deserved death, even begged for it. But Doyle had hesitated. He must have had some ulterior motive, and that idea scared Calla even more. Because she had no idea what it was.

  At twilight, she reached the quiet entrance to the mine. She paused, listening. Birds sang in the trees, and crickets filled the night with their grating chorus. Keeping her back to the wall, Calla crept into the entrance.

  The tunnel was dark—and intact. The Condarri hadn’t arrived yet. She was beginning to suspect that the Nomad had failed to report the rogues’ location. If so, Doyle’s newfound power was far-reaching. He had even turned the Nomad into a rogue like him.

  “If you think we’ll surrender, Calla,” a man’s voice said from within the mine, “you’re more delusional than Halston thought.”

  Calla stiffened, waiting for him to spring on her. He wasn’t standing in plain sight. She would have seen him if he were, even in the dark.

  “Halston is dead,” she said.

  “How?”

  “Doyle found him.”

  That was a lie—Calla had ripped out Halston’s heart with her bare hands. The vivid memory was still just as satisfying now as the act had been.

  “Then why are you here?” the man asked.

  “I’m not here for your surrender.”

  The hybrid stepped out from behind a large timber. “That’s not what I asked.”

  Another hybrid appeared from behind him, coming out of the shadows like a phantom. Then another. She could kill all three if she wanted to, even with a broken arm. Perhaps they sensed this. They hung back, bodies tense.

  “What are you doing here, Calla?” the first one asked again.

  “I came to warn you. Condar is on its way.”

  “Here?”

  “Doyle gave you up.”

  “That’s interesting that you blame him, considering you’re the one who has been hunting us. Halston was working with Doyle. He wouldn’t have given us up.”

  “Doyle turned on Halston.”

  “And how do we know you’re not here for the same reason?”

  Calla raised her hands in surrender. “Halston told me where to find you before he died. Now, I’m telling you this is the worst place to hide. Condar knows you’re here, and they will strike.”

  The second hybrid snorted in contempt. “We know you, Calla, and you are no rogue.” He nodded to the others, and they positioned themselves around her.

  As much as Calla wanted to slaughter them all for treason, she had to work with them now. It turned her stomach, but what other choice did she have if she wanted to defeat Doyle?

  “Take my weapons,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Condar is hunting me too. How else could I hide from them?”

  “Is it true?” the female hybrid asked. “All the others are dead?”

  “Yes. Condar killed them.” Indeed, Calla had killed them, under Con
dar’s orders. She and Doyle had orchestrated the murders of one million hybrids. “Who’s in charge here?”

  “I’m going to ask you one more time,” the first hybrid said. “Why are you here, Calla?”

  “To lead you, of course.”

  The hybrids snickered.

  “Never took you for a jokester.”

  “I’m not. Halston is dead. Doyle killed him. And you need someone who can lead you against Condar.”

  The smiles disappeared. Calla gave them one of her own, allowing her face to show her contempt. They were traitors, yes. And they were weak. How had they managed to hide from her all this time? She held out her hands, palms up. “I’ll prove it.”

  Wary, the first hybrid never took his eyes off her as he nodded to the others. She allowed them to remove her weapons and bind her hands. Then, braver now that she was bound, they half-pulled, half-dragged her through the dark tunnels.

  “What’s your name?” she asked the first one after a few minutes.

  “Silence,” he hissed. “From now on, we’ll ask all the questions.”

  Chapter Two

  A stream of yellow bile fell over the side of the platform and splattered onto the stone far below. Robert Carter leaned over the railing, head hanging out away from his shoes, white knuckles gripping the steel beneath him. His thinning gray hair flopped down over his sweaty face.

  “Okay there, Carter?” Lindsay Alvarez called from the other side of the swinging elevator.

  He waved her away. A don’t-bother-me-when-I’m-puking kind of wave.

  The metal platform swayed as it lurched upward, hoisted by a winch far above. Vibrations ran down the thick cable in a steady hum, side to side, in an unsettling rocking motion that reminded Lincoln Surrey of being on a small boat in rough water. In Antarctica. And he was carrying the anchor.

  Lincoln’s breath misted out in front of him in the cold air, and goosebumps prickled on his arms. He shivered and wished he were wearing more than his frayed button-down shirt and khaki pants.

  The increased gravity pulled on Lincoln’s body like he’d gained a hundred pounds in the last ten minutes. Doyle had warned them. The gravity on board was one and a half times that of Earth—moving around would be difficult.

  That is, it would be difficult if they ever got off this platform. Lincoln dared a glance up and blinked in the harsh light. Although they were aboard a spaceship, the platform hanging in the middle of the vast room felt like they were suspended in the void of space, but the stars were missing. With no nearby walls and the harsh white light shining down from above, their progress to the next level felt glacially slow. Despite their actual speed, they weren’t even halfway to the next level.

  Moments ago, they had left the relative safety of the Nomad for the Factory spacecraft orbiting Earth. Although it was bigger, this one didn’t feel as safe as Doyle’s ship. Maybe it was the presence—yes, presence—of the alien symbols covering everything. Maybe it was the hundreds of thousands of alien-human hybrids that had greeted them when they arrived. Or maybe it was the sheer size of the spacecraft around Lincoln that was unsettling.

  Carter retched again. Lincoln hoped no one was standing below the elevator.

  Lincoln watched the onyx stone beneath drop farther away, lit by the light shining down through the opening in the ceiling. His eyes followed the floor over to the distant black walls covered in circular alien symbols—adarria.

  He ran the new name through his mind, silently mouthing it. It was like something straight out of Star Wars. Months of speculation and frustration, of cramming his long body into tight corners underground, and finally he knew what to call the symbols, although not through any effort of his own. What were they for, exactly?

  They were on an alien spaceship. Or a factory for human-alien hybrids—that’s what Doyle had called it. So far, all they had seen was the dark hangar below.

  The platform swayed again, back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum.

  The round opening above could have allowed a house through it. Why didn’t they fly up in Doyle’s spaceship, the Nomad? Maybe Lincoln was misjudging its size. Maybe the Nomad was too big for the opening. He glanced again at the dark walls covered in adarria. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought they were in a cave. But the cave was in space. And it wasn’t a cave. More like a hangar on an Imperial Star Destroyer, big enough to let in a ship the size of the Millennium Falcon.

  Lincoln snorted in amusement. If he didn’t laugh, he might curl up into a ball and cry. The events of the last twenty-four hours, finding out the alien invasion had been perpetrated by alien-human hybrids, and escaping the aliens had left Lincoln with a sense of being lost in a dark, raging sea. He took a deep breath and steeled himself against the feeling. No one needed to know how truly terrified he was.

  But he didn’t have any trouble admitting it to himself. When Lincoln closed his eyes, all he saw was the image of Doyle suspended above the ground by that dense smoke. The smoke wasn’t smoke, either, but more like floating liquid. And then the liquid had obeyed Doyle and attacked the aliens.

  Lincoln shuddered with revulsion—and amazement. To think that Mina had become tangled up with this man, or thing, or whatever he was. It sickened him further.

  When Lincoln was a kid, he had dreamed of flying on a spaceship. Considering his present company and the circumstances surrounding this ship, Lincoln thought reality was a lot more horrifying than he had imagined. He would rather have both feet planted firmly back on Earth.

  Carter groaned, drawing Lincoln away from his troubling thoughts.

  He turned to look at the others behind him.

  Mina Surrey stood next to Doyle. Warmth radiated out of him like it always did. Mina appreciated it—the Factory was cold, and the side of her body facing out into the hangar had goosebumps. A thrill of excitement ran through her. Finally, here she would get answers about Doyle.

  She preferred to dwell on him at the moment, and not the loss of her friends. Her heart twisted in agony when thoughts of their deaths surfaced. As the thrill of surviving wore off, raw, stabbing pains of grief had begun shooting through her chest. Mina fought them. Later. She’d think about her friends later. When she had some time.

  The makeshift bandage wrapped around her left hand reminded her every time she saw it though.

  Once again, Mina shook off her thoughts. Instead, she focused her attention on her brother.

  Lincoln didn’t look pleased about her proximity to Doyle. Carter retched again beside him, and Lincoln grimaced. Her brother had never been a patient person, and Mina could tell by the way he stood that he had no patience for their situation.

  She found some comfort in the fact that Lincoln was the same man she’d always known. Despite her teasing and her dismissal of his desire to protect her, Mina cherished her relationship with Lincoln. More now than ever before. A few days ago, she had believed him to be dead. However, here he was, standing inside a spaceship with her.

  She smiled at him. Lincoln didn’t return it, but his scowl softened a bit.

  “What do you think?” Doyle whispered. Mina glanced at him. The harsh white light shining down on them accentuated his sharp features. The week-old beard helped soften his face though. And his hair was finally growing back out. Except for the dried blood under his nose and that bruise under his eye, he looked more like the Doyle Mina had met in the woods all those months ago. The one who had saved her from the gang of thugs.

  In a way, she missed those early days with him. His silences and glares had infuriated and frustrated her, but life was simpler when it was just the two of them. Before she knew what he was.

  “Mina?” Doyle whispered, drawing her attention back to the present.

  “I think I like your hair that way.”

  Doyle smirked and rubbed a hand through his beard. “Why?”

  “Telling you the truth won’t do any good.”

  Doyle watched her, his dark eyes uncharacteristically warm. “Why?�
�� he insisted.

  “It’s how you looked when I met you.”

  Mina watched Doyle, but his face didn’t change. If anything, his gaze grew more intense. By now, she should have been used to his unfathomable expressions, but his look, coupled with the warring emotions inside her and the lingering trauma of the last few hours, made Mina suddenly feel overwhelmed.

  To give herself something to do other than to look at Doyle, she ran a hand through her hair and then yanked it away in disgust. It was like a tangled vine of curls—it even had leaves stuck in it. How attractive. Her only solace was that everyone else on the platform was in similar states of dishevelment.

  Doyle pulled a leaf from her hair. “Are you sorry you met me?” he whispered.

  Mina looked back up at him. “You’ve asked me that before. A few days ago, I think. Or maybe it was a lifetime ago. My days are all mixed up.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t regret meeting you.” She smiled weakly and then glanced at the others on the platform. Everyone was strangely silent. No one looked at them. Alvarez pretended to pick dirt off her sleeve. Nelson watched his shoes and then gazed up at the light above. Lincoln’s eyes were glazed over in thought.

  Their silences could have something to do with the fact they were on an alien spaceship, but more than likely they were all trying to eavesdrop on her conversation with Doyle.

  Well, she knew a way around that.

  Your hair that way makes you look nicer, she said.

  Mina had only just learned to communicate with Doyle via the new markings on her chest—the alien symbols he called adarre. Each time she did it, talking to him became easier. When the adarria under the mountain had marked her, Mina had blamed Doyle. She still did, if she thought about it. He had taken her there because he wanted it to happen. And he hadn’t asked her permission. Right now, the anger she felt at this betrayal was muted by her anger at the alien invaders. The terrible creatures that had destroyed everything. And the hybrids who had murdered her friends.