Cerulean Rising - Part II: Evolutions

by Sewall, Justin

  - Cerulean Rising -

  Part II

  Evolutions

  By

  Justin Sewall

  www.diademstudios.com

  For D, E1, E2, E3, E4, E5, and E6

  My expanded universe

  A Diadem Studios Novella. All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2016, Diadem Studios

  Other books by Justin Sewall

  Cerulean Rising, Part I: Beginnings

  Table of Contents

  Technical File: 1834BM723A.0089

  Exordium

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  Interstice — Part I

  11

  Interstice — Part II

  12

  13

  Interstice — Part III

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  Epilogus

  Acknowledgments

  “The human heart is the starting point of all matters pertaining to war.”

  Maréchal De Saxe

  Reveries on the Art of War, 1732 A.D.

  Technical File: 1834BM723A.0089

  Status: Classified

  ALPHA:

  “Regular” programming within the base control personality; characterized by heightened memory retention, substantially increased physical strength, and visual acuity. While not the most physically or psychically powerful, an ALPHA MONARCH is a well-rounded blend of both aspects. ALPHA programming is a purposeful honing of the mind and body for leadership in any environment, for any challenge. ALPHAs are confident in their decision-making and subsequent actions to accomplish the mission.

  BETA:

  Often referred to as the “subtle” programming. Stealth, misdirection, pinpoint accuracy, and a highly refined ability to read another person’s external physical cues are the hallmarks of BETA programming. BETAs are highly observant, and able to retain and recall decades of information with crystal clarity. BLUE MONARCHS of both genders have been successfully trained as BETAs.

  GAMMA: Classified

  DELTA: Classified

  THETA: Classified

  OMEGA Code: Classified

  Exordium

  Black smoke hovered like a malevolent specter over the charred remains of the Entropia base. Cleansing rains would eventually come to dispel the noxious apparition from the sky and quench the ravenous flames. But for now, darkness veiled the sun. And for three young people whose lives had been violently uprooted from this place, the future seemed equally veiled and uncertain. Victims in a war that had stretched for centuries against a mysterious saurian race known as the Triven, they had been scattered among the stars by the sudden attack.

  Young Emerson Avery, his father Richard (former head of all scientific research on Entropia), and the critically wounded base commander, Colonel Adriene Thorsten, had narrowly escaped to a nearby mining colony. Protected by Lieutenant Anton Correlli, one of the highly trained and highly secretive warriors known as BLUE MONARCHS, they are stranded in precarious circumstances. Emerson’s close childhood friend, Ashley Reed, and her brother, Branden, have been captured, and even now are being carried deep into interstellar space aboard a Triven attack ship.

  1

  Drenched in sweat, Ashley Reed awoke from her nightmare, then realized she was still in it, only awake and captive. The holding cell on the Triven attack ship was dark, with only the dimmest light emitting from a small glow strip that ran around the ceiling. But noise assaulted her ears—a strange, irregular pulsing that grated on her sanity. Covering her ears gave no relief, and her right one was still tender from being cuffed by a Triven shock trooper.

  It was warm in her cell, but she shivered violently on the hard slab she lay on. She pulled her knees up to her chest and slowly rocked back and forth, trying to calm herself. It would be easy to descend into hysterics, cry herself senseless, but she knew it would do no good and only waste her strength. She would still be here, her situation unchanged.

  But ultimately, it was too much to bear.

  Try as she might, the combination of fear, grief, and uncertainty soon overwhelmed reason’s ability to hold them back. She began to cry, first silently, then with loud sobs as her emotions took over. Tears betrayed her courage, forcing their way out of her eyes and coursing silently down her cheeks. Ashley’s breathing became ragged as fear and doubt tightened their grasp upon her.

  I am not doing this I am not doing this I am not doing this, “I AM NOT DOING THIS!” she finally screamed aloud. The sound of her own voice over the noise filling her ears startled her, interrupting the flood of panic enough for her to reassert control over herself. Wiping her nose and eyes on her tattered shirt sleeve, she took a deep breath and tried desperately to keep her mind occupied with something more hopeful.

  Checking herself over in the dark, Ashley felt for wounds and found only a few deep bruises around her wrists and ankles where the Triven automate had grasped her. She felt very thirsty and looked around the room for anything that might dispense water. It was at that point she noticed two small squares on the opposite wall, one blue, one green. Waving her hand in front of the blue one did nothing, so she gently pressed it. A small panel opened, a short tube extended. A droplet of something quivered at the end of it.

  Ashley felt the moisture on her fingers, sniffed it, then risked a taste. It was water, but the aftertaste almost made her gag. Driven by her thirst, she took a long pull from the tube and kept it down. Heartened by this small victory, she pressed the green square. Another panel opened, revealing a foul-smelling, gelatinous… goo. If that’s dinner, forget it, she thought. Though she realized in time, she might actually have to eat whatever it was. Not yet, I’m just not ready for that yet…

  Her cell door opened suddenly and the mind-numbing sound instantly fell silent. Only the vague background noises of atmospheric circulation remained. A green-tinted stream of brilliance flooded in from the corridor outside, and the swift change from dark to light made Ashley cover her eyes and curl up in a corner of the room. Through slotted fingers, she saw the lengthening shadow of something approaching and heard the rasp of talons on the deck plates.

  What stepped over the door seal and into the cell was almost comical. A small Triven, no more than a meter tall, studied her with bright, blinking, saurian eyes set in a tiny head. Its thin tail stuck out rigidly behind it like a counterbalance. It stood there expectantly, staring at her, and holding something in its taloned hands.

  Ashley noticed it was wearing a metallic-looking collar, with narrow tubes that protruded from each side and ran up into what she assumed were its ears. The Triven twittered and chirped at her, cocking its head to one side and then the other. It pointed to its collar, then held up the one it was holding in its hands for her. It motioned for Ashley to approach, but she sat unmoving in her corner.

  Losing patience, the small Triven hissed, flared a frill of skin around its head, then bared its tiny canines at her. Leaping onto Ashley’s lap, it secured the collar around her neck in one swift motion. Before she could even react to push it away, the Triven had bounced back to the other side of the cell. It pushed a small button on its own collar, causing the tubes in Ashley’s to deploy and stand parallel to her ears. The Triven pointed at th
e tubes in its ears, making the intent very clear to Ashley. This time, she complied.

  Gingerly she put them in her ears, and was surprised to find they were smooth and fit easily inside her ear canals without irritating them. Immediately the Triven began its tweeting and chirping again, only this time, Ashley heard something else. Rapid, overlapping questions in multiple Earth tongues competed for her understanding: “Parlez-vous français? Sprechen sie deutsch? Nǐ huì shuō zhōngguó rén ma? Vy govorite na russkom yazyke? Do you speak English?”

  She was so stunned the English nearly went unnoticed beneath the waterfall of traditional Earth languages. “Yes!” she blurted, still covering her eyes from the light pouring in from the corridor. “I speak English!” The little Triven made a small adjustment on its collar and all the other languages ceased. It continued twittering at her like some ridiculous, naked bird, bobbing its head up and down, but English accompanied all the whistles, hisses, and chirrups emanating from its mouth.

  “Well, that’s much better,” it said.

  “But, how do you… how can you—?” Ashley’s words faltered.

  “It would take too long to explain, child. Suffice it to say, we’ve studied Earth and its sentient primates long enough to learn their rudimentary languages. The collars merely do the translating.” The Triven turned and called back into the corridor. “Domina, all is in readiness.”

  Another Triven, lithe and sinuous, stepped into the doorway of Ashley’s cell. She judged it was at least as tall as she was, perhaps slightly taller.

  Is this a female? Ashley briefly wondered, realizing how little she actually knew about this alien species.

  It held out a small device in its talons, aiming it directly at her. Ashley pushed back as far as she could into the unyielding corner of her cell. The other Triven spoke and she understood it too.

  “Make sure she eats,” it said, in almost a purr. “This one looks promising, but we still need to run a few more tests… Very nice indeed.”

  It turned on its taloned feet and disappeared into the light.

  The little Triven piped up again.

  “If you hold the green button for about thirty or so of your heartbeats, it will cook the food into something more… palatable. And please eat. The Domina is not very patient. If you don’t, she’ll skin me, then you.”

  The small Triven hopped lightly over the doorframe, closing the hatch behind it.

  Once again, Ashley sat in her dimly lit cell, holding her knees up to her chest and feeling her heart pound within it.

  Suddenly, two thoughts burned through her mind, leaving deep neural grooves where anxiety began to fester.

  Oh no… where is Branden? What have they done with my brother?

  Emerson, are you even alive?

  ***

  Separated by only the width of one soundproof bulkhead, Branden Reed sat in the opposing cell. His broken left arm throbbed and ached, driving him to distraction with pain.

  “IS ANYONE THERE?” he yelled hoarsely.

  “I NEED MEDICAL ATTENTION!”

  Silence screamed back at him, mocking his misery. His auditory torture was the deprivation of sound, but the effect was the same as Ashley’s flood of noise.

  He kicked the cell wall dejectedly, then stood up as anger took hold of his mind, subsuming any thoughts of discomfort.

  Branden banged on the cell door with a clenched fist and all his strength, but the muffled sounds dissipated as if into a vacuum.

  “HEY!! I NEED HEL—”

  His cell door parted and a dazzling green light obliterated his vision. Suddenly he could hear the guttural growls of something standing in front of him, so he slowly took a step backward. A taloned hand grabbed him roughly by his good arm with an excruciating vise grip and forced him farther back into the cell.

  “Look, I don’t know if you can understand me, but my left arm is broken.”

  The hand released his arm but swiftly fastened something tightly around his neck.

  “You’re… choking… me!” Branden gasped, struggling to keep whatever it was from crushing his larynx. Still blinded by the green light, he felt two sets of talons make an adjustment and the pressure eased. He inhaled deeply and tried to shield his eyes with his right arm. It was swatted down, but the green light diminished and he could finally see his antagonist: a heavily scarred Triven with distinct dorsal spines stood before him. Its whip-like tail undulated in agitation, a deadly serpent waiting to strike.

  The image was barely scribed in his mind before it was blotted out by a saurian roundhouse. Branden reeled, trying desperately not to fall on his broken arm, but failing. He crashed against the opposite wall of the cell and pain splintered outward from his left arm to the farthest nerves in his body. A blood-curdling scream broke from Branden’s vocal chords.

  Through the sensory overload, he felt something encase his left arm and something else penetrate his ears. There were more growls, hisses, and clicks, but amazingly he heard English, seasoned with a heavy dose of disdain and sarcasm.

  “This will regenerate your bones, primate, but it’s going to hurt while it happens.”

  Before Branden could respond, what felt like a thousand flaming needles bayoneted his left arm.

  He screamed hoarsely, “It’s burning! It’s burning my skin off!”

  “You wish your bones to remain sundered? Your skin is not burning, primate.” The Triven spit out the word. “The nerves in your arm are simply unable to efficiently conduct the healing effects of our…” Translation failed on the last word.

  Branden’s entire left arm mercifully went numb, while the rest of his body tingled strangely from the device.

  “I will check on you again after the meridian serving is complete,” the Triven sneered.

  “What is that? When will that be?” Branden managed to choke out.

  “Press the green square for sustenance, blue for hydration. Waste reclamation is in that corner.”

  “But—”

  “I will answer no more questions from the prisoner.”

  Abruptly the Triven turned to leave. As it did, the serpent tail struck Branden squarely in the abdomen. Doubling over and gasping for breath, he collapsed to the floor. Face down in his cell, he heard the Triven’s parting retort.

  “You are very fortunate my barbs were retracted, primate. I could dissolve you from the inside out with my venom.” The cell door slammed shut, leaving Brandon wheezing and struggling to breathe in the near darkness. His arm continued to burn mercilessly.

  Shedding silent tears, Branden felt bitterness spring forth in his heart, feeding black streams of hate and rage into his soul.

  2

  Emerson Avery marched quietly behind the well-manicured man in the meticulous gray uniform, feelings of doubt and dread gnawing at his mind. Lieutenant Correlli trailed slightly behind him, and Emerson’s father—nose buried in his datapad—unceremoniously brought up the rear. Colonel Thorsten had already been spirited away by a medical team to the outpost’s dirtside trauma center via corporate lighter.

  Marching in practiced unison, the four heavily armed guards flanking them were lacquered in corporate efficiency, but the tension was palpable as they headed deeper into the bowels of the orbiting mining station. The flinty scent Emerson had first detected when he exited their evacuation ship seemed to grow stronger with every step. It was a miasma that threatened to overwhelm him.

  “You’re probably noticing the smell of our work here,” the man in gray said casually over his shoulder. “You’ll get used to it eventually. I don’t even notice it any more unless I’ve been on holiday. I’m Armand DeSoto, Director of Corporate Security for Tantalus Station. And who might you be, young man?”

  “Emerson Avery, sir.”

  “Ah. Indeed. Well, tell me something about yourself Emerson—non-classified of course.” DeSoto exchanged a quick glance with Correlli, while the guards seemed to close in tighter around them. As they passed a branching corridor, four more guards fell
into formation behind them.

  “Well sir, I, um…”

  Emerson felt squeezed between the guards and DeSoto’s questioning. The oppressive odor made his head swim, and he found it difficult to concentrate. A sharp burning sensation flared in his left cheek, a painful talisman courtesy of the young Triven on Entropia.

  “Come, come, Emerson. Just one thing.”

  “Automates,” he said cautiously, relieved to have an answer. “I’m good with automates.”

  “Brilliant! Certainly a smart skill to have in this day and age,” DeSoto noted.

  Suddenly the lights in the corridor flickered. Correlli lurched violently to the left and fell against the wall with a groan. He nearly dragged Emerson down with him as he sank to his knees. Yet as the stims he had taken earlier wore off and his strength finally gave out, he imprinted one fleeting thought in Emerson’s mind: “Don’t let them…”

  Like a flash of lightning, the thought was gone, leaving only a vague after-image in Emerson’s subconscious. Cryptic and brief, it was still deeply disquieting. As his hand slid off the boy’s shoulder, Correlli collapsed heavily to the floor with a resounding crash of armor.

  DeSoto whirled abruptly, and, without missing a beat, immediately began issuing orders. “You four, pick this man up and get him to the infirmary. Now!”

  The four trailing guards sprang forward, grabbing Correlli by his arms and legs. They hustled their burden awkwardly through a door that slid shut with the clang and hiss of an airtight bulkhead.

  “Both of you, hurry up. You’re going to medical for a thorough examination,” DeSoto barked, and the remaining guards began prodding Emerson and his father along with their assault rifles.

  “But I feel fine,” said a startled Richard Avery, finally looking up from his datapad as the corridor lights flickered again.

  “I’m sorry, doctor, this is not a request. Do move along.” DeSoto’s tone warned against further dissent. Richard Avery shuffled forward, not deigning to give DeSoto the satisfaction of issuing him any more orders.