Project Hyperion

by Jeremy Robinson

  We dive inside the X-35, and I rip off my mask. “Go! Go! Go!”

  The X-35 accelerates so fast that we nearly tumble out the back, but the hatch closes fast enough to catch us. I look back through the hatch, which shows a projection of what’s happening behind us, and watch Nemesis crash to the ground. She’s definitely hurting.

  But she’s not done yet.

  Quick to her feet, Nemesis sides steps toward the Luminox, putting herself between the Gestorumque and the building. Hyperion isn’t too far away, but the big robot is still unmoving, trapped beneath half a building.

  I climb into the cockpit with Woodstock. Hail beats a chaotic rhythm over the hull. “Are we in any danger from this hail?”

  He shakes his head. “Future Betty is tougher than my meemaw on Bingo night.” He grins at my quizzical look. “The woman took two things in life seriously, bingo and drinking whisky. Usually at the same time. They used to let her win, just to keep people out of the hospital.”

  Beyond Hyperion, the writhing Giger, still fighting the effects of the bacteria bombs, rises up to its feet, shrieks at the sky and flexes its body. The creature’s bony exoskeleton cracks and then falls away in big chunks, revealing a new form, which is similar to the first, but far less intimidating. Its armor has been replaced by shriveled up flesh, and the three remaining arms now resemble something closer to T-Rex limbs, small and useless. But it’s still large, and no doubt powerful, and it has a mouth full of sharp teeth.

  And then there is Lovecraft, storming in toward Nemesis.

  The white Gestorumque shimmers with excited flashes of blue and green light. It senses the kill, and victory, and it shifts from a defensive tactic to an offensive one, charging in and swinging its long arms. Both blows strike, peeling away Nemesis’s black flesh.

  I know what Nemesis can do. I understand the power of her wings, and how they can bend sunlight into a powerful beam of energy hot enough to cleave Lovecraft in two, but there is no sun. Not only is this freaking Portland, land of sunny people and cloudy skies, but the hail storm and smoke rising from the city have reduced the ambient light to something closer to night.

  “What are you doing?” I wonder aloud, and then I reel back as Lovecraft lunges in and bites Nemesis’s face. Tentacles wrap around her, holding on tight. Rows of teeth arranged in a circle dig into Nemesis’s face. And for a moment, I think the goddess of vengeance is done for. But then she pulls back her head and shoves with her arms.

  Lovecraft stumbles back with a mouth full of Nemesis flesh. In fact, the Gestorumque peels off the entire front half of Nemesis’s black skin and armor, allowing the back half to fall down, revealing her stark white form. The carapace on her back cracks open and spreads, as two glittering wings rise up.

  With an unholy shriek, Giger charges, moving with the same skittering speed as before.

  Nemesis steps back and her wings burst open, angling around to face the charging Kaiju.

  But there’s no sun! I think.

  And then I notice Hyperion.

  The robot’s eyes are red.

  The three circles on its chest blink to life in rapid succession.

  With the speed of a snapping finger, six laser cannons pop out of its forearms, two rise from its shoulders and a ninth cannon, that dwarfs all the others in size, rises up out of the back and snaps into place over its head. All nine cannons are aimed at Nemesis.

  Bright yellow beams fire from the cannons, each striking Nemesis’s wings where they are reflected and redirected to a point at the center of Giger’s head. The focused beam of energy punches through the Gestorumque’s head, exits the far side and then carves a line through the city beyond.

  As Hyperion continues the long laser pulse, Nemesis turns her body toward Lovecraft. The Divine Retribution supplied by Hyperion and aimed by Nemesis cleaves through Giger’s body on its way to Lovecraft. Steam and heat-flung bits burst out from the wound, but most of it is cauterized on contact. The Gestorumque drops to the side, legs rigid, and very, very dead.

  Caught in the beam’s path, Lovecraft has nowhere to go. Quick bursts of blue and green roll through the Gestorumque’s skin. Then, in a move that makes everyone on board the X-35 groan in disgust, save for the Ferox, Lovecraft’s mass explodes from her backside, dumping countless tons of purple and white meat, blood and who knows what else, into the city. It flows through the streets with the force of a mudslide, toppling cars and surging into storefronts. With a beat of its wings, the still vacating Kaiju launches into the air.

  Nemesis spins faster to compensate. The reflective plates that make up her wings shift and start to fall away, their deadly potential all but spent. The angle is ruined and the lasers reflect as separate beams. Some strike the fleeing Kaiju, doing minimal damage. Some miss. One of the beams strikes Nemesis herself, knocking her back and putting a hole in her softer, white flesh.

  Wounded and oozing, Lovecraft rises up over Nemesis. But will it attack? Nemesis glares back at the creature, both of them winged, both of them a little more frail. It would be a fight to the death, for one of them, if not both of them. And then with a strong beat of its wings, Lovecraft moves away, dodging back as the world’s largest ball of ice falls from the sky, just missing the airborne, Kaiju. But it’s not going to hit Nemesis either.

  “No!” shouts Cole, once again in human form. “The Luminox!”

  The hail ball strikes the arch in the center, folding it inward and tearing all the way through. The men on top are thrown away. The two separated halves lean inward and collapse.

  With a victorious roar, Lovecraft soars higher into the air and then beats a hasty retreat west, chased by a small, black orb, no doubt heading for the deep waters where the Kaiju can rest.

  Nemesis roars defiantly after Lovecraft, claiming the battle as a victory.

  The rest of us know better, and Cole sums up our loss in one succinct statement. “The human race is on its own.”

  EPILOGUE

  I’m back where it all began, like all good horror stories, at a cabin in the woods. The Watson family cabin is exactly how I remember it. The mess of beer cans and dirt I created were cleaned up years ago, but the slight musty smell mixed with pine needles brings me back to that pivotal morning: to the bear, to shooting Truck Betty and to Collins. Without that chance encounter, everything the FC-P has become would have been different. I wouldn’t have actually looked into the Bigfoot sighting that drew me here. Wouldn’t have stumbled across the secret lab where Nemesis and Maigo were created. Wouldn’t have learned how to stop the monster in Boston. And I would have died scores of times. Collins’s presence in my life has radically altered my fate.

  But is it real?

  Learning that a good portion of my team’s lives, including the good, bad and the fugly, has been manipulated by the Ferox with the purpose of turning us into Earth’s best hope, has really screwed with my head. I feel like Neo in The Matrix, waking up to discover that the world is not what I believed it to be. Except I don’t have the option to retreat back into the program and live out a long, happy life. I never really saw the downside of living out a long life inside the Matrix. Most people on the planet will probably choose to live in a virtual world soon enough. But there’s no retreating from our reality. Monsters are real, and they want to kill, torture and enslave us. I actually miss the days when all we had to fear was being judged by an ancient goddess of vengeance.

  The rest of the team is nearby, behind the tall fence and security measures, recuperating from the Battle for Portland, or more accurately, the battle for the Luminox, which we lost. Hyperion is taking a nap inside a massive hanger built at the small Beverly Airport, but I have a Zoomb team—some of whom are undoubtedly Ferox—working on a better place to keep the robot. It suffered grave damage in Portland, but it’s busy repairing itself. Thanks to its connection to Maigo, and its full charge, Hyperion can be here the moment we need him.

  Lovecraft was tracked back to the mid-Pacific. The Air Force hit the beast wit
h everything they had, because why not? But it took the punishment and eventually dove down deep, lost in the vast depths and headed who-knows-where. But I suspect that the monster will remain out of sight until its brethren arrive from the stars.

  Nemesis did her usual disappearing act, leaving a trail of reflective panels in her wake and charging back to the coast under military supervision. She made no effort to avoid obstacles in her path, but left us knowing that she was on the side of humanity. When she first arrived, I couldn’t stop the military from taking pot shots at her, but after defeating the Tsuchis, and an obvious effort to defend Portland, no one even asked. Without a doubt, she is a force of vast destruction, and dangerous. She might turn on us some day, but for now, she is our force of vast destruction.

  And we’re going to need her.

  With the destruction of the Luminox, the huge fleet of Ferox and other alien species in their vastly manipulated network, will have to travel to Earth the old-fashioned way—meaning they will most likely arrive far too late to do any good.

  Cole, who disappeared shortly after the battle, and who I was happy to see go, told us that there were two hundred thousand Ferox on Earth, living among us, working with us and preparing for the coming war. They would stand with humanity, and work to form a coalition of nations, but he also believes they will die with humanity. He’s not exactly a motivational speaker, but I don’t believe a word he says. All of his claims might be carefully constructed words designed to forge a sharper blade. Or whatever.

  So now I give everyone I meet and work with a good long look to see if I can tell the difference. Two days after the Battle for Portland, back at the Crow’s Nest, everyone agreed to prick their fingers. I was relieved to see red blood from everyone. I considered performing the same test at Zoomb, but then decided it would get too much attention. The last thing we need is for the general public to find out that some of them are nasty looking aliens here to protect us from an invasion, which is probably going to wipe us out. The kind of panic that would cause could do the Aeros’s work for them.

  “Refill?” Collins asks, pushing open the cabin’s creaky screen door. She’s holding a pitcher of homemade hard iced tea.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?” I hold up my glass and shake it around.

  She refills the glass and says, “Pretty sure I’ve already done that. Like three times.”

  “Well, you are hard to satisfy.”

  She pours herself a glass and sits down in the rocking chair beside mine. The view isn’t spectacular. It’s just woods, a carpet of pine needles and a dirt road. But this is Maine, and when you want to relax, sitting on the front stoop and watching the cars go by—or not go by in our case—seems to be the state-sponsored activity in these parts.

  “Did you talk to Maigo?” she asks.

  “She’s okay,” I say. “And I hate to say it like this, but I think she’s come to terms with what she is.”

  “A monster,” Collins says. “You know I don’t agree with that.”

  “Neither do I, but I think it’s empowering her to not hold back.”

  “You think she was holding back before?” Collins’s surprise is justified. We’ve seen her perform some pretty amazing feats of strength, speed and occasional violence.

  “I think every time she let her true self out a little, she feared she might change—”

  “Into Nemesis,” Collins says.

  “—and so she pulled back from what she’s really capable of.” I down half of the tea and feel it hit me. “Holy crap. A little heavy on the Vodka.”

  She shrugs. “It’s our day off.”

  “Pretty sure we don’t get days off,” I say, and I put the glass down on the small antique side table that’s starting to rot from exposure. “Wouldn’t do anyone any good if we were five shades to the cosmic wind when aliens invade.”

  That sobers her up fast, and she puts her glass of tea down. “Thank you, Mr. Buzzkill.”

  “Hey, I’m just—”

  She puts her hand on mine and smiles. “I’m kidding. It makes sense. But we also have to keep in mind that we don’t really know when they’re coming. It could be tomorrow. It could be in five years.”

  “Either way, we need to do everything we can to prepare.” I give my wife a wink and reach for my tea. “Starting tomorrow.”

  My hand returns to the spot I had placed the glass of tea, but I find only empty space. I turn slowly toward the end table, believing the Vodka is already messing with my muscle memory. But the glass is no longer on the table. It’s in the hand of a man I didn’t hear approach, let alone sit down in the chair beside me and snatch up my glass.

  The man is dressed like a cowboy, from the Stetson on his head to the boots on his feet—and the wicked looking revolvers strapped to his belt. He tilts his head back, pounding down my tea.

  I hear Collins shifting beside me, no doubt reaching for her weapon. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that weird shit happens for a reason. If this man wanted us dead, he could have killed us. Instead, he looks content with my tea. I hold a calming hand out to Collins and turn toward the stranger.

  “Enjoying my drink?” I ask.

  “Is good,” he says, the accent not quite Russian, but definitely Eastern European. Czech maybe. Is he here because of what happened on Big Diomede? Some Russian Special Ops guy? He could also be a Ferox.

  He sets the empty glass on the table and smiles at me.

  “Planet is in danger,” he says, and I see no reason not to nod. He clearly knows things. He’s here, with us, for a reason. “But not just here.”

  He waits for a moment, but I give him nothing.

  “There are other Earths. Other...dimensions.”

  “Why not?” I say.

  “I have seen what you face.”

  What you face. The way he says this implies he’s not one of us. Us as in human. “Are you one of them?”

  “An alien?” He chuckles. “That would be fun, no? Except that they are ugly.”

  “Very,” I agree. “How do you know all this?”

  He puts his hands on his knees and stands. “Come for walk?”

  I look at Collins. She shrugs. We get up together and follow the man around to the back of the cabin. A hundred feet into the woods, I spot an aberration. It’s a smooth metal surface that doesn’t belong out here.

  We enter a small clearing and I stagger to a stop. Collins bumps into my back and then gasps. We both know what this is. We’ve both seen it, recently, housed in the chest of a giant robot.

  “Die Gloke,” I say.

  The man gives a tip of his hat.

  “Did you take this from—”

  “Is from my Earth. Is the second I have found. Was taking to a secure location when I noticed your...”

  “Shit storm?” I suggest.

  “Situation,” he says. “The monsters. The invaders.”

  “Do you know when they’re coming?” I ask.

  The lighthearted nature I sense from the man melts away. “They are already here, destroying an Earth parallel to this one. In that place, you are already dead. And without help, this world will be next. And then mine. And countless others, until humanity is wiped out, in all dimensions.”

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  He stands by the big metal bell-shaped object that we know as a Rift Engine. It’s covered in what I assume is Atlantean script. Its dirty bronze surface looks ancient, but still full of horrible potential. He pats his revolvers and smiles. “Am gunslinger,” he says. “I am Cowboy.”

  He puts his hand on the Rift Engine and motions for us to do the same. “Bell is alien power source. But can be used for travel. In air, or between dimensions.”

  It’s not much of a stretch from what we’ve already seen Hyperion do. But do I buy his story about there being multiple versions of Earth, including one that has already been destroyed? I’m not sure. My tolerance for weird shit is at an all time high.

  “
Physical contact with bell is required. I can direct us.” He gives a winning smile. “Is safe.”

  When I step forward, Collins catches my arm. “What are you doing?”

  “‘Is safe,’” I say, imitating the man’s accent. “And if the Cosmic Cowboy here is legit, I need to follow this through. Take the risk. It’s what we do, right?”

  She kisses me gently on the lips, and that, more than her words, makes me second guess what I’m about to do. I look at the man.

  “If he gets hurt,” Collins says to the man, “I’ll hunt you down, no matter what dimension you think you can hide in.”

  The man just smiles like it’s all good fun. “Back in jiffy.”

  I put my hand on the smooth surface of the Rift Engine. It’s cool and vibrating ever so slightly. And then we’re gone, lost between worlds, and somehow able to see them all. It’s like viewing reality—all of it, or all of them—through the eyes of an all-seeing creator. We’re floating through imagination itself, conjured worlds separated by thin membranes of reality. Like pages in a book, separate, but conjoined. Realities flash past, heroes and monsters, familiar and fantastical, and then I see them.

  The Aeros.

  And an Earth that’s already been destroyed.

  “Is the first of many,” Cowboy says, his voice echoing strangely in this surreal place. Somehow he shows me dimensions in proximity to each other, and I see Collins, looking afraid, backing away from the spot where the bell had been resting just a moment ago. The Aeros are just a world away, wiping out a version of our planet woefully unprepared for their scourge. I see massive space vessels, Gestorumque, the Aeros themselves and a weapon of vast destructive power.

  “Your Earth is next,” Cowboy says.

  I watch the dimensions slipping in and out of view, watching people and events, some of which rival the threats faced by the FC-P. I see potential.