Ancient Armada

by Tyler Leslie

  The sound of Chip’s celebratory whooping once again filled the comm channel, but this time Davis couldn’t keep from smiling. These regular grunts were absolutely no match for the might of the AMBAs; it was like smashing bugs in a corner.

  The third warrior was briefly spotted fleeing at an incredible pace. It clearly knew it was outmatched and severely outgunned. If anything could be attributed to the Scuratt’ka, it was that they were survival-minded.

  Davis glance at his radar and noticed something very troubling. He clicked on his comm. “Uh, guys, I think we’ve got a whole lot more company than we thought…”

  The radar showed a whole congregation of red dots amassing near the north end of the town. Davis’ computer estimated 21 life signs, seven of which also emitted an electronic signature. Elite warriors. If there were truly seven of the elite out there, the paltry human troop was in dire straits. There was no way for them to overpower an enemy force of that magnitude. Davis sat for a few seconds, waiting for a reply. Finally from Chip:

  “Whoa… that’s a lot of red dots there, Buddy. I don’t think we can handle that many at one time… what should we do?”

  Davis thought for a second, and then turned to face Chip and the three remaining soldiers. He punched the button that raised the glass membrane and looked once more into the eyes of Lieutenant Griggs.

  “It’s your call, Sir. My radar shows 21 signatures, seven of which are probably elite warriors. We could take them all on if we didn’t have the elites to think about, but with that many I don’t think there’s any way we can hold them off. We’ll be annihilated.”

  Lieutenant Griggs put his hand to his face and thought hard for a few seconds. He finally sobered and looked back up at Davis.

  “We were ordered to defend and mop up this city, Marine. I can call in for backup, but there’s no guarantee it’ll get here before we’re overrun.” Davis noticed Griggs suddenly lacked the stereotypical drill sergeant type behavior he had previously been flaunting. “There’s a platoon that landed about thirty miles from here. They have two tanks with them and three AMBAs. If they join with us, we just might have a shot at this.”

  Griggs turned and pulled out a hand radio, walked away a few steps and started muttering incoherent words into the device. Davis turned his attention back to the radar. The dots hadn’t moved yet. Surely the Scuratt’ka knew they were here. If the two groups that had already attacked them hadn’t radioed ahead, the one warrior that had fled them surely by now would have given the news to its officers.

  For a fleeting second Davis thought about his parents. How would they react if they found out their son had died in battle? Would it even affect them at all? His father had always been a rough disciplinarian and an even harder worker. He thought any amount of free time used to have fun was free time wasted. This outlook had made him a very wealthy man, yet had robbed Davis of the father he had always craved. He remembered watching the children of the other families in his neighborhood. They had almost all of them shared a special connection with their parents. Davis had always been jealous of that.

  “Help is on the way, men!” Griggs interrupted Davis’ reverie with the good news. Davis should have cheered at this information, but knew there was slim chance of help arriving before the enemy warriors showed up and had a field day taking them apart. Seven elite warriors. That was a hefty number and one that absolutely terrified the young Marine. A single elite warrior was nearly a match for an AMBA; seven of them would rip through two like tin foil.

  Chip radioed in on the comm channel again. “I know I was a little surprised at first, but now that I think about it, I’ve got this. I don’t know about you in there, but I’ve got the chops to take out these punks with one arm and a blind eye.”

  Davis held in a snort of derision. It was that kind of stupid self-assurance that got good men killed. Davis had known men like Chip before. All they did was brag about their skills and how no one could touch them. When it actually came down to it though, they never could deliver like they claimed.

  This was no time for banter though, so Davis resolved to keep his mouth shut and get the job done. He punched the button to close the hatch and was once again greeted with the oddly soothing silence of pressurized air followed by the soft whirring of mechanical systems coming online. It was time to take this to the next level.

  CHAPTER 15

  Prince Davenport stood on the balcony outside his private quarters, reveling in the cool night air. His week had been exceptionally productive, and as such he allowed himself a tight smile. The chip he had acquired from Parker Turner had proved invaluable. It would allow for a much more sophisticated series of targeting systems—something the military desperately needed. With this new system in place, the Scuratt’ka would have to work even harder to bring down the military’s AMBAs.

  His thoughts floated to what Godfrey had called his attention to recently. MindGate had indeed needed to speak with him, but the matter had been far more urgent than even Godfrey had made it seem. It seemed as if the alien artificial intelligence was developing a big brother complex, as it had asked the Prince if he was sure the attack he had executed on James Burns had been a wise move. Prince Davenport had simply laughed. He had nearly forgotten about the assassin he had hired to bomb poor Mr. Burns’ car. Of course it had been a good decision! It was true there was no real motive for the attack—other than the destruction of a business opponent—but it would serve to strike fear into the hearts of the other unsuspecting American businessmen and make it that much easier for them to be controlled.

  MindGate had then informed the Prince that a piece of DNA evidence had been left behind at the DelTek headquarters, something that could eventually incriminate both him and Godfrey in the attack. That would not do. He would send Godfrey and an ex-Green Beret operative he favored to the DelTek headquarters in Chicago to deal with the situation. There was no one better for the job than those two—no one else could be trusted with something this delicate.

  But these troubling bits of news were not to be dwelt on now. The Prince took a step back and walked to the mirror in his room. When he was ten years old he had been suddenly struck with the knowledge that he was far superior to every other man, woman, and child on the planet. It was just the way it was. He was better looking, more intelligent, and more talented. There was no human that was his equal, and he had proved this by taking over capitalism itself. To someone who didn’t know of the Prince’s accomplishments it would surely seem ludicrous, but the truth of the matter lay in the fact that he had indeed commandeered all the businesses in the United States, and had put many a hardened, self-righteous CEO in his place. There was nothing more to discuss. What other man could accomplish a feat such as this?

  The Prince turned his waist a smidgen and reveled at the perfectly sculpted muscles that rippled beneath his shirt. He had always made it a point to keep his body in top physical shape. You never knew when the time would come that would require use of its potential power, not to mention the obvious sexual connotations that accompanied being in great shape. He continued to study himself and thought back to when he first ‘met’ MindGate.

  The MindGate program had come to him one afternoon, out of the blue. It had to be admitted that the sudden appearance of something so distant from human technology had put the Prince on edge, but he quickly ascertained the intentions of the entity, and became its human ambassador in a way. The machine had told the Prince of the imminent attack on mankind by a race it referred to as the Scuratt’ka, and had naturally selected him to work with it toward a common goal.

  The machine had been myopic in its foresight, however, and had simply wanted to destroy the majority of the human race in an attempt to sate the needs of its biological worshippers. It had requested the Prince’s extensive base of information and knowledge in preparation for the attacks that would begin summarily. In exchange for his services, the Prince
would be spared and integrated into the new Scuratt’kan society. The Prince saw this as nothing more than a ploy to enhance this threat’s ability to lay waste to the world. If he was actually spared, he would be little more than a trophy adorning the wall of the Warlord in charge of this alien crusade. No, the Prince had been forced to change the rules of the game to benefit himself a little more.

  After several hours of negotiation, which at times had become very heated, the two had agreed on an endgame. The Prince would supply information to the Scuratt’kan forces, allowing them to more easily attack mankind, and supply new weaponry to the humans to allow them a fighting chance against their new adversary. This would hopefully balance the odds, and make the fight more ‘fair’. Fair to the Prince however, was not exactly fair in the normal sense of the word. Both sides would receive help if needed, and the populations of both races would be dissolved down to a mitigated amount by the war. Then, the remaining inferior specimens would be disposed of and the promising candidates would be adopted into what would be known as “The Great Fusion.” The theatricality of the name had originally offended the Prince, but it was now a well known fact to him that the Scuratt’ka adored such vulgar displays of theater, and so the name had stuck.

  The Great Fusion would be a chemical process that would fuse the best characteristics of both races, turning them into a new ‘super’ race of humanoid that would be better in every way than either single race. It all sounded like a ridiculous science-fiction story, but it was fact and it would be carried out as such.

  MindGate expected the Prince to integrate it into his database once the purge was complete, and the Prince had agreed to do so. This would never actually come to pass, of course, as the MindGate was a liability to the real plan that lay behind the Prince’s cold eyes. MindGate would be disposed of by a powerful virus the second it entered his system. There were surely safeguards to protect it from such things, but the Prince had spent nearly an entire year developing a suitable program, and was completely confident it would do its job. The virus would render MindGate completely under his control and without a sense of self-awareness or will. It would simply be yet another tool at his disposal. Once the final ‘race’ had been assembled it would be ruled over by the Prince as its king. Perhaps the new race would be closer to his perfection and thus more easily managed. Regardless, humanity as a whole disgusted the Prince and had to be dealt with as soon as possible. There was simply no other way.

  The Prince stepped back from the mirror and headed for the Comm room. He had another thing to say to MindGate before the end of the day. Then, he would send a detachment to Chicago to tie up that loose end as well.

  CHAPTER 16

  Davis was sweating profusely. The past few minutes had been nothing more than a waiting game. Both he and Chip had shut down their AMBAs’ radar systems for fear of being located (had they not already been) and had stood their ground on the outskirts of the city, hoping help would arrive before the alien tide.

  It had turned out to be exactly what was expected. A Scuratt’kan scout had appeared briefly and disappeared a few moments later. There was no doubt now that they had been spotted, and now there was nothing to do but wait for the inevitable rush of Scuratt’kan forces.

  The attack came like a flourish of cards dealt from the hand of a master player. Over the tops of the roofs of the demolished buildings, through the cracks in the wall around the city, even through the ground itself. There was nothing to do but get on the gun and start taking as many of them with him as possible.

  Davis chose his first target, one of the seven elite warriors and locked onto him with his plasma cannon. He fired without a second’s hesitation and smashed the creature into pulp. It was too easy. He looked around at the carnage that was being wrought from every side. The Scuratt’kan forces were falling like flies, and every single one of the human soldiers was still standing. Something in Davis’ mind screamed trap! He slapped the button to the comm and yelled at Chip.

  “What’s the deal with all these guys going down so easily? This can’t be right. They aren’t even putting up a decent fight!”

  “I have no clue, Boy, all I know is I’m wiping the ground with them and have no complaints.”

  The comm channel cut out and Chip was back on the offensive, pelting enemy warriors with both bullets and plasma like it was free.

  Davis couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something wrong with this attack, yet continued firing on and demolishing the enemy ranks. Not a single one got within melee range, and every one that rushed him was immediately tossed to the ground like a rag doll. There was simply no competition to speak of. Within minutes the entire enemy force had been laid to waste, and the cheering of the human soldiers filled the air. Davis felt a sudden stab of fear despite this, and instinctively began a slow retreat.

  One by one of the bodies of the Scuratt’kan warriors began vanishing. They seemed to simply evaporate. The cheering quickly turned to cries of disbelief and even Chip began cussing through the comm.

  “What the heck is this?” he shouted after painting the inside of his AMBA blue. “Where are they going?” He turned to face Davis’ war machine and pointed with the arm of the AMBA. “They’re just vanishing into thin air!”

  Davis shook his head. It was incredibly obvious that’s what was happening, but being sarcastic about it wouldn’t help anything, so instead he offered:

  “I have no idea, Chip, but it feels like a trap or a ploy of some kind. So far there have been no reports of Scuratt’kan bodies vanishing, so I haven’t a clue what this is about.”

  The air suddenly began to hum with the crackle of energy and throb like a subwoofer had been cranked up too loud. It was a scary sensation, and one that Davis had never before experienced. The crackles intensified into a roar than was nearly deafening. There was no way to put into words the emotions that ran through Davis’ head in that moment, but they were permeated by a sense of dread that gives the mouth a metallic taste. Davis knew something terrifying was about to happen, and had no idea how to deal with it. A sudden flash of light erupted into his vision, and the roar intensified. There was a sudden boom of energy, and then the world went black.

  When the soldier and Godfrey arrived at DelTek, a spectacle awaited them. As soon as they stepped out of the car they were ambushed by dozens of reporters, immediately bombarded by question after question demanding why they were there and what their connection to this event was. The Green Beret took care of the preliminaries, slicing his way through the crowd with no more than a, “No comment.”

  The Prince had made sure the police would be nowhere near the scene, so there was nothing barring the two men from entering the building. They stopped at the entrance for a moment and surveyed the tower’s façade. The exterior of the building was flawless, with no signs of the tragedy that had occurred within.

  “Well,” the nameless soldier offered in a disdainful tone, “Let’s get this over with.”

  As soon as they stepped through the revolving glass doors of the DelTek building they were met with quite a sight. Gilded balustrades and chandeliers adorned the staircases and ceiling, dark green marble walls giving a clear sign as to the wealth commanded here.

  “Business is good,” the soldier chuckled. The two men mounted the golden staircase and climbed to the elevators at the top, also gilded, and covered in fancy engravings of medieval history. The Bastille was the centerpiece of the carvings, armies of golden soldiers surrounding the epic building.

  “History was never this interesting in school,” Godfrey muttered.

  The soldier touched the elevator’s call button, signaling it down to their level. The button was seemingly made of pearl; it glistened in the light from the chandeliers. The floor numbers glowed a soft green as the elevator approached the two visitors, giving off a quiet ding when it reached their level.

  “After you,” the s
oldier said, his voice devoid of all emotion.

  The interior of the elevator was just as bedizened as the exterior; paintings hung from all three of the expansive walls, a marble floor the same color as the walls finishing off the gaudy “I have more money than you” vibe.

  The gilded doors opened with a soft whoosh, unraveling an entirely new scene. The upper floors had once been covered in posh red carpet, but the expansive cloth was now in tatters, giant holes and rips permeating the expensive fabric. Pictures and paintings lay strewn across the floor, their glass encasements shattered, giving the room a haunted mansion feel.

  “Who did the Prince hire to do this job?” the soldier scoffed. “Looks like a tornado developed inside the building. This was such an amateur job.”

  Godfrey nodded almost imperceptibly. “I’ll be sure to inform the Prince of this. He’ll make sure the men never have the opportunity to do a sloppy job again.”

  Godfrey stepped forward over broken shards of glass the size of his leg and examined the reception desk. Giant gouges scoured the entire top portion of the desk, seemingly made with a blowtorch or some other superheated device. Reams of papers littered the floor, suggesting the assailant may have entered during office hours. The question was, where was this incriminating evidence the Prince was so on edge about?

  The receptionist’s chair seemed to have been knifed, large amounts of stuffing seeping through the fissures and onto the floor. It seemed as if the assassin who had done this had gone to extreme lengths to ensure the entire floor had been utterly devastated. Hiding one’s tracks with flamboyant destruction was the mark of an amateur. Godfrey once again tried to imagine exactly what the Prince would do to the assassin when he found out about this.