From the Ashes (Conquest Book 1)

by Jeff Taylor

  Each ship would be supplied with enough provisions to sustain their crews for a significant portion of time, six Earth years, while providing shelter as construction projects sprouted from the virgin terrain. Eventually, the ship would have the capability to deliver hundreds of emigrants across the expanse of space to new worlds. In short, it was a nation builder.

  Brill pondered Con’s vision now that he was alone in his penthouse, away from the salesmanship of Zyn and her cronies. He still was not certain about whether it was folly or fortune that awaited Carsus’ inclusion in the venture. The potential was enormous, but more so the risk.

  When he had first heard Con’s ambitious plan to expand the Martian facilities to actual settlements, he was skeptical. In fact, his initial reaction was like Pilan Ahkman’s; the company would be bankrupted before the first rocket left the ground. The cost versus gain ratio was ridiculously skewed in the former category. Why would any company take on such an incalculable risk? What could possibly be the motivation to invest in such a problematic project? These questions and more roared against it. But Brill still wasn’t sure. It was possible the venture would never turn a profit, but the wonder of what could be accomplished was almost felt worth the effort. The excitement of the possibility made him wonder if he was feeling what other peoples felt as they settled the Americas. The intoxication of discovery, the promise of a fresh beginning on virgin soil was as tantalizing as the most seductive vice. That sense of adventure is where they would make their profits, capitalizing on the wealthy, the desperate, even the bored, anyone who wanted to start anew and stake their claim to history.

  These thoughts occupied his mind as he examined every detail of the ships and their mission plans. After several hours of gazing at them, he shared Con’s enthusiasm.

  He backed away from the graphics, his mind and body completely exhausted.

  “Turn it off,” he barked, rubbing the strain from his eyes.

  The wall complied, removing the images and replacing them with the natural view of the frigid Sound outside. Slowly, he opened his steel-grey eyes and looked out. Trails of speeding vehicle lights snaked through the streets. Thousands of people, young and old scurried to their Friday night rendezvouses, ambivalent to the future that he could offer them. Would they be as eager to streak across the stars to begin a new life? His gut told him they would.

  Tiring of the view, he ordered the curtains drawn and then exited the study through his bedroom door. He had lived alone for many years and felt he did perfectly well that way. His assistant Kirly believed otherwise. She constantly interfered with his daily routine, even going so far as to come to his home to ensure it was cleaned and meals were prepared. He complained bitterly about the intrusions into his privacy, but never tried to stop her. In reality, she was the only one who had ever arranged things to his liking.

  In a rare display of selfishness, Kirly had taken the night off but not without leaving specific instructions for him. As usual, he ignored them. “I’m nearly eighty years-old,” he grumbled to himself. “I can take care of myself without being coddled like an infant.” Of course, Kirly anticipated this protest and had completed the list herself before she left. His bedclothes and medications were neatly arranged on the bed and bathroom counters so that he wouldn’t forget them. In a fit of rebellion, he threw the silk pajamas she had laid out into the hamper and dressed in the cotton ones that had seen better days. Once dressed, he reluctantly swallowed the small red pills for his blood pressure and the blue capsules for the lingering pain he still felt from his injuries. As tired as he was, he knew sleep, just as every night since the attack, would not come without the medicine and that despite his weariness took the sleeping pills prescribed to him.

  The bedroom adjacent Brill’s study was magnificent but plain. Spanning roughly eight hundred square feet, the room had tremendous decorative potential, but Brill preferred function over form. The spacious rectangular sleeping quarters were simplistic in its adornment. A few pieces of art hung on the bland white walls. A large, circular king-sized bed rested prominently on a pedestal of white marble in the center. Kirly had on more than one occasion suggested adding more artwork or some tasteful furniture like a sofa or bench to the barren space. His response had always been the same; the more you added the more clutter you create. “Besides,” he’d often countered, “why would I want something for someone to sit on in my bedroom? When people sit they tend to stay.” The massive suite was his refuge. There were no desks, no computers, not even a television screen, nothing to encroach on his sanctuary. His dresser and end tables were hidden within the floor and walls, only appearing at his command.

  After changing, he brushed his teeth, turned out the light to the master bathroom then shuffled toward the large bed. The downy mattress enveloped him and it was not long before his breathing eased into a rhythmic pace. The thoughts of corporate takeovers, outer space adventures, and exploding stairwells were replaced by the peaceful blackness of a deep, exhaustive sleep. The speed with which it overtook him signaled the effectiveness of his medications. Soon, his mind was oblivious to the real world.

  Normally, Brill did not dream, not in the usual sense. Difficult calculations and strategic positioning always marinated in his mind at first, but those soon gave way to fatigue. But from the start, tonight was different. When he looked back on it later he could not understand why that had been the case. His routine had been perfectly repeated, other than the review of the Precursor materials. Yet as his head rested on his pillow, a dream unlike any in his life played out as if it were a memory of an event that had yet to happen.

  Blurred images danced before his eyes. At first, he could not distinguish if they were figures, buildings, or trees. For all he could tell it was a typhoon of tie-dye. Eventually, they meshed and mixed and swirled into distinct patterns, forming recognizable shapes and figures. Distant, indecipherable voices echoed around him. Suddenly, as if a switch had been turned on, everything came into perfect focus (was that a carnival?) then disappeared. A vast expanse of empty space, dark as night, now surrounded him as far as he could see. Beneath his feet something felt firm, yet he could see nothing there.

  “Hello,” he cried, “Is anyone there?”

  A disquieting silence was his only answer. Cautiously, he took a step forward, daring not to step too quickly. He had no idea of what was under him or how far it spread around him. As he walked he grew increasingly more apprehensive. He wandered aimlessly for what seemed like an eternity, but his steps never found any edge or unseen boundary. The more he walked the more confused and desperate he felt. At last he dropped to his knees overcome with fear and confusion. An indefinable loneliness overwhelmed him and he wept bitterly as these emotions welled up inside his weakening heart.

  Suddenly, his eyes burned from a piercing light in the distance, shining with the intensity of the noon-day sun shone. His eyes reflexively closed and he recoiled back shielding his face from the brightness. The light soon faded and he found himself standing in a place that felt familiar to him. There was now warm asphalt beneath his feet while a pale blue sky and vibrant sun looked down on him. Rows of aspen and walnut trees guarded aging homes with beautifully manicured lawns lining either side of the road. Just behind him a large school with brightly colored playground equipment stood out prominently in the quaint neighborhood. Crowds of people in summer attire materialized from the ether like phantoms, chatting amongst themselves while others looked toward the south, cheering wildly.

  Brill turned in the direction of their cheers. The asphalt below him now stretched to the horizon. A jubilant marching band advanced down the hill amidst the hail of streamers and confetti booming from the cannons rolling along behind them.

  All around, Brill could see people waving flags, both small and large, showing broad smiles and warm tears. It was the most festive atmosphere he had ever seen, yet he felt as if he had been there before. He spun in circles orienting himself to his surroundings, examining every detail, s
crutinizing every face. After a few moments, his mind opened as if a blind had been removed from his eyes. At once, he knew exactly where and when he was. He looked down at himself. His fragile, old body had been replaced with that of a healthy ten-year-old in high-top basketball shoes, a white and red striped t-shirt, paired with denim shorts.

  “Impossible,” he muttered to himself, baffled. This celebration had taken place nearly seventy years ago, but his senses told him he was experiencing it anew, as if he were really there.

  The great parade was marking the return of the many young men and women from their town who had served in the war against the tribal militias in some far-off country. Brill couldn’t remember which country or which terrorist groups were involved. He hadn’t cared at the time and he did not now. What he did remember was the overwhelming pride and pure joy that swelled his heart when he caught sight of the man leading the procession.

  Ahead of the triumphant soldiers marched Brill’s older brother, Centus, standing tall with banner in hand. The elder Brill had volunteered to fight four years earlier and after countless letters and video chats, he was finally coming home. Although Centus was nearly ten years older than Brill, the two of them had shared a special bond that had only grown stronger in their separation. Naitus not only looked up to his older brother but Centus was also the only human he had ever truly cared for, even more than his late wife.

  The forty-six months Centus had been away were extremely difficult for Brill and his family. Shortly after Centus left, their father had passed away, leaving their mother to support them. Even with Centus gone, she struggled to provide for herself and Naitus. The strain of supporting them on a waitress’s salary got the best of her and she spent a month in a psychiatric hospital while her youngest son stayed with his grandparents in Michigan. After her release, she had clung to Brill for her support, which put a tremendous burden on him. Centus’ return boosted the morale and the fortunes of the whole family.

  Thinking of his mother, Brill turned toward the school. Just as he remembered, there she was standing on the pavement, hands clasped at her mouth in anticipation of seeing her eldest boy once more. Brill’s heart warmed at the stream of tears bathing her thin face. She was extremely frail by this time. He recalled seeing pictures of her when she was more rounded and healthy. He was now reminded of the pain she endured as she begged for work, doing laundry, or cleaning homes for anyone willing to pay just to keep food on the table for him while leaving barely any for herself. The memory caused Brill’s heart to ache. She had sacrificed so much to keep them going, but on this day, her plain, solemn face glowed with a natural brilliance that still warmed his soul.

  A broad smile blessed her delicate face and the tears flowed free as her eldest son marched proudly toward her, hoisting their flag high above his head. Shedding a few tears of his own, Brill again turned to see his brother.

  The memory of the parade was still as fresh in his mind as if it were only hours and not years in the past. The national pride he felt was genuine, each soldier’s step pounding in time with his heartbeat. Never in his life, before or since, had he experienced such a surge of devotion and patriotism than he did then. His little hands pressed firmly over his heart and his high, pre-pubescent voice rang out with all the force he could muster as he joined in the booming, spontaneous rendition of the national anthem ringing out from the crowd.

  Brill felt his own eyes moisten at the sights and sounds. His thoughts soon turned to the remainder of that wonderful day had been. The family would have lunch at their favorite Italian restaurant then catch a movie at the Surroundaplex, before they all headed home to sleep together in a heap on the floor, listening to some of their father’s favorite jazz albums.

  The only damper on the whole day had come at the movie theater. Naitus had been the one to choose what they saw and he picked an epic entitled “Africanus.” The film retold the story of the legendary war between ancient Rome and the African city of Carthage. Brill had anticipated the release of the movie for weeks and now that he had an excuse to see it he was overcome with excitement. The battles and conflicts inflicted by the hero, the Roman general Scipio Africanus and his cunning nemesis Hannibal, had Naitus practically standing on his seat. The most dramatic scene, however, had not come from the screen but from his brother in the seat next to him. During the historically-inaccurate but nonetheless exciting final battle at the film’s climax, Brill was wildly spinning his chair in the center row, trying to take in every individual battle on the enormous screen encircling the room. In his efforts to see everything, he caught a glimpse of his brother’s face. Even in the dimly lit theater, Brill could see the absolute horror on his brother’s petrified countenance and the terrible shaking of his hands as the bloody battle waged on. Prior to his military service, such violent images would not have affected Centus in the slightest. But that day Brill recognized his brother had changed. Despite his young age, he understood the reality of war and the impact it had on those who fought it.

  A chorus of trumpets brought his mind back to the parade. The gloom of the movie was gone and he reveled at the sight of his considerably larger brother stepping proudly in tune to the singing crowd. Brill enthusiastically sang along without thought of anything else when he noticed someone else in the formation, standing behind and to the left of Centus. The man was dressed in the same khaki uniform as Centus, holding aloft the flag of their unit. He was incredibly handsome with bright blond hair and a regal nose accentuating a firm expression. But his piercing blue eyes held Brill’s attention. This young soldier was incredibly familiar. Brill was convinced he had seen him before, but where? All at once, the impossible occurred to him.

  “That’s Nathaniel Kratin!” he cried. But it couldn’t be. These events took place well before Kratin was born. Was it Nathaniel’s father, perhaps? His confusion was augmented even more when another man, who looked eerily like the detective that had questioned him about Schulaz’ death, flanked Centus. What was his name? It started with an S … Strinnger, wasn’t it? Brill was dumbfounded.

  As he pondered their intrusion into his memory, he was startled when two vice-like hands violently locked around his biceps. He struggled to free himself, but his ten-year-old body was no match for the enormous, black hands now tightly entwined over his small arms. At first, he suspected his mother was holding him fast, but the hands were much too dark and strong to have been hers. Brill flung his head desperately over his shoulder trying to catch a glimpse of the person restraining him so tightly. At last he could maneuver around far enough to see the soulless eyes of Pilan Ahkman. Brill was too stunned to speak. “Ahkman?!” he squeaked out.

  The disgruntled board member only starred at him blankly, no hint of life or understanding apparent in his eyes. When he finally spoke, his baritone voice was replaced with a guttural, raspy sound.

  “Beware the cyborg,” Ahkman declared.

  Brill didn’t understand. “What?”

  Ahkman repeated his warning, this time with greater urgency. “Beware the cyborg!” His empty eyes were now wide with an incomprehensible panic.

  Brill’s mind clouded. For the last several years Ahkman had been his enemy. Now, in his most precious memory, Ahkman was vehemently warning him of some impending danger. The entire scenario was ludicrous and Brill grew increasingly conscious of the fact that he was dreaming.

  A monstrous clap of thunder rattled the ground beneath him. Brill pulled his gaze from Ahkman’s impassioned glare and turned toward the source of the outburst. On the horizon a dark, ominous cloud rolled mercilessly forward, consuming the clear blue sky and everything else in its path like a ferocious, starved animal. Dozens of lightning bolts ripped the sky, scorching the humid air like electric fingers scratching at the earth. A debilitating chorus of thunder soon followed, concussing Brill’s ears and knocking him to the asphalt. He crumpled to the ground, pulling his knees to his chest as the consuming storm and frigid fog ate the world around him. He laid there with his knees t
o chest for an indeterminate amount of time while the sounds of terror pierced the air around him. When he finally opened his eyes, he was enveloped in darkness, alone and frightened. His forced solitude was short lived.

  The ground suddenly lurched. In the distance, he heard something extremely large and metal fall to the road, crunching the pavement to pebbles and dust. Whatever had fallen, it was advancing toward him. The sound of heavy thudding against the hard concrete drew nearer, getting louder and louder until it suddenly stopped. The hollow clang of a thin pipe soon sounded a few feet away. He could not see what was before him but he didn’t need to. The tingling throughout his body told him something big was very near and that it was bad. Frantically, his hands scoured the invisible road, searching for anything he could use to protect himself. At last his right hand brushed over a cold cylindrical object with something tied to it. He quickly seized the object and brought it in close to his chest. His hands crept along the shaft and discovered a large piece of cloth attached at the end. Instantly he was aware that he held a flagpole. Was it the one Centus carried? He brought it up to his face to better gauge his find, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t see the brightly colored banner crumpled in his grasp. To his dismay, it was the very same flag Centus had held aloft. If the flag is here then where is Centus? He desperately called out his brother’s name but got no answer other than the bitter stillness of the void returning his cries.

  He slumped to the ground, allowing his tears to stream over his arms. Fear held his heart firmly. He felt incredibly alone. Through watery eyes he searched for any sign of help, any light breaking the mist that would give him hope, but none came.

  “What does this all mean!?” he now shouted in his adult voice.