by Alex Bratton
“We have no proof!”
“Did you think Thompson would roll over like a dog and confess?” Doyle stood dangerously close to her now, his previous charm gone, replaced by something else. His demeanor disconcerted her. She had always been able to read him.
Except for the day he had bested her on the dais.
“No,” she said.
The three moved toward Doyle, quickly and silently, like raptors circling for the kill. Calla expected Doyle to resist. She lunged toward him, blocking his escape, and raised her fist to strike, but he grabbed her arm, twisting her in front of him faster than she had ever seen him move.
“Kill him,” she ordered. But the three knew Doyle would kill Calla first. She felt his smug smile from behind her.
Doyle twisted her arm a bit more, approaching her pain threshold, bringing her in closer to him.
Calla sensed the Nomad soaring toward her. She had not called it.
Doyle pointed his gun at the three hybrids. Three shots rang out. Calla seized the opportunity to elbow Doyle in the face, but he blocked her, wrestling her to the ground and pinning her with his body. A few feet away, the bodies of her loyal three lay dead. Calla fought back. In another moment, she would be free.
Then, Doyle struck the back of her head, and Calla knew only darkness.
Chapter Thirteen
MINA DREAMED THAT DOYLE CAME in to check on her a few times, even woke once to look out at the dark, empty room. She rolled over and slept until she could not rest anymore. When she woke for good, the room was still dark.
She found Doyle standing in the cockpit, looking at something round in the air in front of him—a shimmering projection of Earth. He turned to her when she walked in. The globe floated toward her at Doyle’s touch.
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
Mina tentatively brushed her fingertip against the globe, which warbled in the air and scooted away. Doyle grabbed the hologram and placed it in front of her. It was like a beach ball, only smoother and almost transparent. Mina put a hand on either side of the globe. The smallest pressure made it shrink, and Mina squeezed until it was the size of a basketball.
Mina instinctively expanded her hands while gripping the ball, and the globe followed her movement, growing larger and filling the cockpit.
Doyle stepped aside. “Very good. Now try something else.”
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
Mina released the globe, and the hologram floated in the air where she left it. She spun it slightly with her hand, and Earth rotated on its axis. When the Eastern US came into view, she stopped spinning. The mountains looked real. No, not just looked real. She could touch them. When she did, the hologram shifted. The round planet disappeared, zooming in to a three-dimensional representation of a mountain. She could even view individual trees.
“Imagery is current,” Doyle said.
Mina’s heart skipped a beat. “I can see…”
“Anything. What it looks like now.”
Mina wasn’t certain she wanted to continue. She pushed the globe off to the side. “How long was I asleep?”
“Eighteen hours.”
“Where did you sleep?”
“On a bunk in the back.”
“Oh. Umm, thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.” Doyle smiled. It wasn’t the grinning smirk he used when he was being condescending but a genuine smile that crinkled his eyes.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe there’s more human in him than anything else. She cast around awkwardly for something to say, but nothing came to mind so she grinned back at him.
“I can’t believe you aren’t berating me with questions.”
“I can’t decide what to ask first.” Mina gazed out the cockpit window into the dark water. She felt Doyle’s expectant eyes on her. “What about giving me a tour of the Nomad?” she asked finally.
“Why not?”
He led her out into the corridor. Of the four doors, she had only been through one, his bedroom. He opened the one next to it. They stepped into a brightly lit room with a surgical table beneath a robotic arm identical to the one that had fixed Mina in the bunker. A large window predominated the outside wall of this room, too, offering another view of the dark water. A counter ran the length of the wall to the right, with cabinets above and beneath. Every surface gleamed.
“This is the med bay,” Doyle explained.
The next door opened to the galley, which held freezers and storage for dried food, and a small table with two chairs crammed along one wall. The door between the galley and the bunk room in the stern of the ship turned out to be another tiny bathroom. They stopped just inside the bunk room.
“One thing,” Mina said. “The outside of the Nomad appears to be a Condarri ship, yet everything on the ship is human-sized, and most of it looks perfectly human. A Glyph wouldn’t even fit up the ladder, would it?”
“That’s right.” Doyle propped his arm on the bunk just inside the door. “The Nomad is the only ship of its kind. Hybrids built it as an experiment, actually. A blend of Condarri and human technology. I guess you could say it’s a hybrid, too.”
“Did you help build it?”
Doyle gazed around the room. “Wish I had. I was too busy with other things.”
“How many hybrids are there total?”
Doyle shifted his weight on his feet.
“You don’t want to tell me?”
He met her eyes. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Mina didn’t break eye contact. She wanted an answer.
“Over a million.”
Mina choked out, “A million?”
“Not too many when you think about all the work involved. All of us filled multiple roles.”
“A million,” Mina repeated softly. She walked over and sat tentatively in one of the chairs. The cold, hard metal surprised her after the more comfortable seat in the cockpit. “And they’ve been on Earth for years?”
“Twenty or thirty, depending on the batch of hybrids.”
“Batch?”
“Hybrids were prepared in batches, raised in batches, sent to Earth in batches.”
Doyle hadn’t moved except to tuck his hands in his pockets. Doyle spoke quietly, but he wasn’t asking for pity, merely citing facts. He watched Mina, and for once, his gaze did not unnerve her.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Thirty-five.”
“Thirty-five Earth years?”
Doyle smiled. “Yes. There are no hybrids older than forty. Hybrids were raised on Earth time to make the transition faster when they landed. I came to Earth for the first time when I was fifteen.”
What had Doyle been like at fifteen? Mina could not imagine. She drew a deep breath and exhaled then stood to look around again. The closed door at the back of the room led to the spiral staircase.
“What else is below us?” Mina asked.
“The core of the ship. It’s powered strictly by solar energy. The entire surface of the ship contains microscopic cells that are like solar panels except much more sophisticated. The core stores the energy until it’s needed.”
“Won’t we run out down here?”
“No. We have enough fuel to power the Nomad to the other end of the galaxy.”
Mina chewed her lower lip. Thinking about flying to the other end of the galaxy was too much, like she should wake up from this dream any moment and find herself back in the woods.
“What now?” she asked.
“I still have a job to do,” he said grimly.
“I thought you were done spying on the camps.”
“My orders changed to hunting rogue
s right around the time I met you. Spying on camps was secondary. The rogues split off slowly at first, and for a while, we kept up with them. Then, they began dropping off the map. We can’t find some of them at all. Don’t know how or why. I was supposed to look for Halston.” Doyle nodded at Mina’s gasp of recognition. “And we found him. He’s been slippery, and I want to know what he’s up to. Ever since he deserted, we’ve had more go rogue than we can contain.”
Mina recalled Doyle’s silent conversation with Williams. “So Thompson is a hybrid, too?”
“Was. Thompson’s dead.”
“Did you kill him?” Mina suspected the answer even before he nodded. It didn’t bother her as much as she thought it should have. “And you’ve been in contact with them all along?”
“Off and on.”
“But you’re rogue now.”
“They don’t know that. I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.”
“Explain.”
Doyle motioned her out of the room, and they walked down the corridor to the cockpit. “The Condarri need to think I am still following orders. The rogues are a threat to everybody—humans, hybrids, Condarri, and each other. Some rogues have banded together. Others are working entirely on their own. I think I know why, and if I’m right, then none of the rogues is trustworthy.”
“Is that your actual reason for killing Williams?”
“Williams wasn’t rogue. He attacked you, Mina, and he would have turned me in himself, whether he thought I was rogue or not, if he thought he could gain something. I wasn’t going to give him the chance.”
“So what now?”
Doyle settled in the captain’s chair and gestured to the seat she had chosen yesterday. “We’re going to West Virginia.”
“Lincoln,” Carter whispered.
Lincoln opened his eyes and peered out through the open flap of his tent. Carter stood bathed in the moonlight filtering through the camp.
“What’s the matter?” Lincoln asked.
“Baker’s out for a run. Schmidt’s still asleep. His cold is worse.”
Lincoln sat up quickly. “What do the others say?”
“I woke you first.”
The others sleepily pulled themselves from their tents and gathered in front of Nelson’s.
Nelson yawned, his brown hair falling down over his eyes. “It’s now or never?”
“Looks that way,” Carter said.
“I vote now.”
Alvarez rubbed her eyes. “I vote to stay.”
“After all that prep?”
“Yes. Sorry, Nelson, there’s something to what Nash said about the reason we’re here. What about you, Lincoln?”
Lincoln shifted around. “I vote stay. Alvarez is right.”
Nelson scoffed but didn’t argue. They all looked at Carter.
Carter sighed heavily. “I say go. We really just don’t know when, or if, we’ll get another opportunity. I’m sorry for Nash, but we can’t stay based on a remote possibility.”
“This is awful,” Alvarez said. “I don’t want to split up.”
They all stood mutely, weighing each outcome. Finally, Lincoln said, “I guess I’m willing to go if it means we stick together.” He looked to Alvarez.
She swallowed and nodded. “Me, too.”
They went to their respective tents to gather their gear. Five minutes later, they met in front of Lincoln’s tent with everything they wanted to take with them. He considered taking down his tent, but it would eat up too much time. Baker could return any moment.
Lincoln’s heart pounded as he adjusted his heavy backpack. He looked at his friends. They were ready.
Silence bore down on the gaping stone hall of Condar, its presence lurking among the shadows. The deep circular grooves of the adarria graced the onyx-colored walls. They shifted, allowing beams of brilliant, fiery light to escape from behind the deep etches. The light glinted off the dark floors, illuminating a broad stone dais floating in the center of the room. Then, the hall grew dark once more.
Adarria covered the dais, too, but they were quiet here. Atop the platform, a black vortex of darkness swirled slowly upward, its wispy tendrils concealing something, binding it within. A hybrid rotated slowly above the giant stone, her body hanging by a mask formed of the same aether twisting around her.
Calla neither raged nor cried out against the ties of her prison. Instead, her fury burned deep within her, warding off the bitter cold of the great hall. She relived the betrayal over and over in her mind. Dar Ceylin had killed the three and attacked her, stealing her ship. She awoke here, in darkness in the great hall of Condar, accused of—what? Murder? Treason? Incompetence? All carried a death sentence, yet Calla had not spoken to anyone since she had woken, and she might never have the opportunity. A trial was unheard of for a hybrid. Calla had played judge and executioner many times herself. The Condarri could leave her here to starve.
Fresh anger washed over her, threatening to rip apart her tender threads of self-control. Doyle had a weakness now, of that Calla was certain. He had made a mistake when he killed Thompson. He had given himself away.
Calla yearned to speak, to defend herself. She had always been loyal to Condar and would prove it. She wanted to move, to exert control over her own body, but there was nothing to grasp but the aether. It mocked her as it glided through her fingers.
The prisoner had one other option—to communicate through her adarre. The Condarri might kill her for her insolence, but dying was preferable to hanging in shame.
Gathering her remaining strength, Calla reached out to the adarria in the hall.
END BOOK 4
Author Note
Get an email when the next episode releases!
Just go to www.alexbrattonwrites.com and sign up for my updates. When you do, you’ll get a free download of The Mine, set seventy years before the events of Invasion. Find out what happened when the underground Condarri bunker was first discovered, and about a plucky female miner who risks everything.
Best,
Alex
Also by Alex Bratton
The Shadowmark Series:
Invasion, Episode 1
Annihilation, Episode 2
Isolation, Episode 3
Shadowmark Origins
The Mine, A Shadowmark Origins Story
Hybrid, A Shadowmark Origins Novel
Acknowledgments
So many people were involved in helping to get this story out there. In its original form, I have to thank Dad, Nicole D., Carina, and Pam for their early feedback.
For this final manuscript, many thanks to the lovely Nicole Z. for editing.
And, as always, I’m thankful for my husband Eric and his faith in me while I pursue this crazy dream of writing.
About the Author
Alex Bratton grew up reading almost every genre of books, anything she could get her hands on. In a former life, she taught Middle and High School English.
Now, Alex lives in Tennessee with her husband, son, and three dogs. She writes alien invasion/post apocalyptic stories and also publishes space adventure under another name.
You can find out more about her at www.alexbrattonwrites.com.