Last of the Chosen (Spirit of Empire, Book One)

by Lawrence P White

  The caped man lay on the ground ten feet from the ramp, not moving. The woman lay at the foot of the ramp behind the two cats who were firing at anything that moved. Mike retrieved his bag and circled the brightly lit area of the ramp, his belly never leaving the ground, until he was out of the brightest light. Why didn’t they turn out the lights, he wondered? He stopped moving when a shape rose up behind the woman and cats. A bald, white head, elliptical eyes dominating its features, stared out from behind the ramp of the UFO, aiming a weapon at the unprotected woman.

  Mike had to choose. Should he escape, or should he help the cats and the woman who were pinned down? He had felt rightness from the fearsome cat that had told him to hide, and he felt revulsion for the bald-headed creatures. He chose what felt right. He rose to one knee, took careful aim down the short barrel of the alien weapon, and pressed the buttons. A charge exploded from the weapon, narrowly missing the woman and cats to ricochet off the ramp. The baldhead changed its aim, loosing off a hurried round at Mike that went wide. Moving his aim slightly to the right, Mike pushed the buttons again. This time he was on target. The creature flew backward as the burst of energy exploded into its body.

  Quicker than he could blink, Mike found himself staring into the muzzles of four weapons, one in each forepaw of the cats. His weapon fell to the ground and both arms rose as high as he could reach before he had even made a conscious decision to do so.

  Blast! One of the cats went down. The other dropped to cover the woman and fired at a target behind Mike, all in the same motion. Mike scooped up his weapon and the bag of drawings and raced in a crouch toward the ramp, dodging to avoid blasts on the way. He dove to cover behind the ramp, rolling into the body of the alien he had shot. Using it as cover, he turned to the rear looking for others. Shots exploded from the dark, then two aliens rose to rush forward. Mike fired twice and didn’t miss. He had just an instant to note that the cicada sound ceased after his last shot before a hail of blaster charges rained against the front of the ramp, flooding him with heat and explosions.

  The cat creature, using the body of his dead partner for cover, kept up a constant fire. Mike reached an arm around the entrance ramp, grasped an ankle and pulled, dragging the woman to safety by his side. She seemed dazed, turning to look at him with vacant eyes. The cat soon joined him and they took turns firing at anything that moved, but they were trapped. They needed to move into the safety of the ship, but there was no way to get around and up the ramp without fully exposing themselves. One look into the cat’s eyes convinced Mike that it, too, was aware of their predicament. They needed to eliminate the baldheads. They needed a diversion to draw them out of hiding.

  Mike took a moment to study the cat. What was it about the creature that drew him? He should have been revolted by its very presence, by its obvious alienness, but he was not. About the size and coloring of a full-grown lion, its muzzle drew all his attention. Longer than a cat’s, more like a baboon’s, the muzzle was furless and fierce, the skin gathered in brightly colored ridges, red and black and gold predominating. The teeth, when exposed, were clearly made for ripping apart prey. The ears were definitely those of a cat, tufted with black hair on each pointed end. The cat wore no clothes, only an equipment harness holding various pouches crisscrossing its shoulders and chest. He sensed power within the cat, power screaming to be unleashed, but not in his direction. In spite of its fearsome appearance, this cat was not his enemy.

  Mike motioned for the cat to go out to the side in a flanking action to draw out the enemy. Then, he looked at his hand as if it belonged to someone else. Was he nuts? What was he trying to do? Why was he even here? He didn’t want any part in this. He had never seriously believed the stories of UFO’s and alien abductions, though he hoped others existed out among the stars and would come some day in the future. But not now, not right this minute. He just wanted away from here. This wasn’t his fight.

  The cat’s gaze met his squarely as it shook its head, indicating that Mike’s plan was not acceptable. It holstered a weapon and reached out a clawed fist to caress the head of the woman, scrunching up its lips in a smile to display wicked teeth. Mike got the message – it wasn’t leaving her side. He also discovered that the creature was no simple cat. Instead of paws, it had four hands with full length fingers and opposing thumbs, all tipped by sharp claws.

  The cat shook the woman to get her attention, peering into her eyes until it found what it was looking for, then forced a weapon into her hand. She responded by angrily turning toward Mike, then shouldering him aside to squeeze between him and the ramp. The blaster in her hand fired, then fired again.

  Mike turned toward the cat thinking hard, then met the cat’s fierce gaze again. He waved his blaster over his head in a circle, then pointed to his eyes and covered them. The cat took a quick look around the ramp, fired one shot, then another and returned to the silent game of charades. It thought for a moment, then pointed a long-nailed finger straight up, motioning up the ramp and into the ship.

  Darn! The light switch must be inside the ship. Mike shrugged, knowing what had to come next. He looked away from the cat with a frown, wondering how his life could have changed so completely so suddenly, wondering also why he had chosen sides when he didn’t even know who the good guys were. When he turned back to the cat, the quivering, hellish muzzle swung to within inches of his own. They locked gazes again silently. This cat understood his dilemma.

  Though Mike’s gaze was on the cat, his mind was elsewhere. His whole life had changed in the past fifteen minutes. His car lay beneath the crashed ship some one hundred meters away. He still had his drawings, but the prospects of those drawings reaching Reno appeared bleak at the moment. Nor was the significance of this First Contact lost on him. Building plans and cars mattered little to the potential ramifications of First Contact. But whose side should he be on, if anyone’s? He didn’t want to choose sides, but the sides had been chosen for him. The bald-headed aliens had shot at him. His choice had been cemented when he tackled and killed the creature that had shot the man. There was no going back now, but that didn’t mean he had made the right choice.

  His eyes focused once again on the cat, and he knew instantly that this cat was what mattered. First Contact took precedence over his own personal plans, and for the moment, survival was the focus.

  The cat waited for him to make up his mind with the patience all cats seemed to have. Mike pursed his lips, then locked gazes with the cat and nodded his head once. He would do his part, if only to survive.

  The woman grasped a handful of fur at the throat of the cat. It instantly swung its muzzle toward her to give her its full, undivided attention. Mike gathered up another weapon from the dead alien he had shot, stuck both barrels around the ramp, and awkwardly pushed buttons, loosing shots at random and frequently checking to his rear. He didn’t see any movement anywhere. The woman had risen to her knees before the cat, both hands grasping the fur around its neck to hold its attention. Heated words were exchanged, the cat holding its own with full speech ability. Mike understood enough from the tone to know that the cat was not only being ordered, but that it was unhappy about those orders. It turned to face him, peering hard into his eyes, willing its thoughts to him.

  Mike watched carefully as the cat motioned, its arm reaching toward the fallen man who was well beyond its reach. Shots exploded against the ramp and everyone huddled together. Mike hissed at the cat to get his attention, studied his weapons momentarily, then crouched beside the ramp and began firing both as quickly as the weapons would allow. The woman squirmed beneath him on her belly, adding her fire to his, and the cat took off. It reached the fallen man in one leap, wrapped a well-muscled arm around him, and skittered back, laying the man gently under the sloping ramp.

  Mike stopped firing and sat up, wiping sweat from his brow as the woman examined the body. He took one look and knew the man was dead. A large chunk of his midsection was missing, and there was no sign of blood flowing from the w
ound. Clearly, his heart had stopped. Mike focused on the desert to his rear, wondering how many bald-headed aliens were left out there.

  What next, he wondered? They were still pinned down, unable to get into the ship. The woman conferred with the cat again, exchanging more heated words, then turned her attention to Mike. For the first time he took a good look at her. Disheveled brown hair and a face streaked with dust and dried tears returned his gaze. Large, angry, doe-like brown eyes examined him from head to foot, taking in his long, lanky frame, straight black hair, and black eyes spaced wide apart on a permanently tanned face. What she couldn’t see was his Scottish heritage, a source of high energy and determination, tempered by a mixture of American Indian that gave him his calm, unflappable stamina, gifts he keenly protected.

  When her examination was complete and she focused once again on his eyes, he sensed that, unlike the cat, she was not happy with what she saw. Their gazes held for a moment, then he returned his attention to the cat, dismissing her. She grasped both of his shoulders, forcing his attention back to her. Two sets of angry eyes stared at each other.

  Without warning her eyes swelled. Mike felt himself swallowed by those eyes, then all coherent thought of any kind fled. He felt her mind delve into his inner being, sampling memories and feelings, shuffling through them as quickly as a professional dealer shuffled cards. His mind was reduced to primitive instincts, wanting only to escape. On that primitive level he panicked and tried to fight back, but there was nothing to grab on to. He tried to flee and managed to stand up, but she rose with him, keeping a lock on his mind. Unknown to him, shots impacted the other side of the ramp, and she grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling them both back from danger. They stood nose to nose, his whole being captive to her mind as she shuffled through his thoughts.

  Suddenly, she was gone. She simply withdrew, freed him, let go of his mind. He flopped to the ground, pulling her with him. She lay on top of him, but he didn’t care. It was over. That’s all that mattered. It was over.

  Gasping for breath, he flung her off and rose, the fighting forgotten, his hand held out before him to ward her off, wanting nothing but space, lots of space, between her and him. His mind was his own again but primitive instinct still prevailed. He needed to be away from this alien creature. Nothing else mattered.

  A clawed hand grasped the front of his shirt and pulled him into an embrace, forcing him to the ground. The cat stood guard over him while he struggled with his horror.

  A fierce growl brought him back to reality. The woman had returned to the base of the ramp, lying on her belly and firing her weapon as if nothing unusual had happened. The cat growled again, demanding his attention. Mike closed his eyes and shook as a chill raced through his body, but he forced himself to think. He was in the midst of a battle, he was pinned down, and he wanted to live. He had to set the horror aside, at least for a time, but he would never forgive or forget how she had violated him. First Contact was toast as far as he was concerned. He just wanted away from this witch woman. If getting away meant killing the bald-headed aliens first, then he would kill them.

  The cat reached a hand out to him. Three small spheres rested in the palm of that hand. It motioned throwing the spheres out into the desert, then shielding its eyes. More charades, but Mike got the message. He took a moment to check his weapons. What he was checking for he didn’t know, but it gave him the moment he needed to get his act together.

  He lifted his eyes to the cat and nodded, lips still pursed in a thin line. One sphere was dropped just in front of the ramp, then the other two flew far into the night. He closed his eyes and felt the rough hand of the cat reaching out to supply added cover for his eyes. Moments later he dimly perceived a bright flash, as if a stun grenade had gone off. Once more the light flashed, even brighter, then Mike moved, sprinting toward the dark desert in a line perpendicular to the ramp. He was gratified to hear covering fire from the cat and the woman. It was a long run, some thirty or forty meters, and he was the only thing moving, the only target. Did the bald-headed alien’s eyes work the same as ours? Were they blinded, or was he an easy target?

  He stopped and flattened himself to the ground, raising only his head. He was outside the brightest wash of light from the ship, giving him a much better view of the area holding the bald-heads. He waited, lifting his head slowly, knowing that the first creature to move would be at a disadvantage.

  Nothing happened for a time, so he set one weapon on the ground and raised himself to one knee, keeping his head below the level of the brush. He raised the weapon into a rifle-like firing position, one eye looking along the top of the short barrel, his left elbow held tightly against his body to provide a rigid firing platform.

  The cicada sound returned strongly, and he frowned. What were cicadas doing here in the desert at this time of year? Moments later he saw movement. The woman was thrashing on the ground beside the ramp having some kind of fit, fully exposed to the bald-heads. Three white, bald-headed figures, widely dispersed, rose as one thirty meters in front of the ramp, weapons preparing to fire.

  The cat sprang from behind the ramp to cover the woman, its blaster taking out all three of the enemy quicker than Mike could blink. Mike rose up to help, but he was too late. He swiftly turned to his left and checked behind the ramp. The light was much dimmer there, but two white, bald heads showed clearly. They took aim, but Mike fired quickly and repeatedly, felling both of them. The cicada sound ceased abruptly as the last alien fell.

  He raced toward the darker area behind the ramp to look for more, leaving the brighter area in front of the ramp to the cat.

  He settled, then moved a few more meters away from the ramp and lowered himself back into a firing position, searching, but he sensed it was over. While he waited, he wondered if the ship would just close its ramp and lift off. That would be okay with him as long as the witch woman went with it.

  He was taken completely by surprise when the cat appeared beside him, rising silently out of the dark. They looked at each other sensing kinship, then the cat turned its back on him and headed back to the ship. Mike stayed anchored in place with one knee on the ground, sensing the invitation but aware that the witch was back there. The cat stopped and turned to face him, then settled onto its haunches to wait.

  Mike studied the creature, studied its alienness, and as he did so, he began to sense wonder. This creature was so very much more than just an animal. In every way it was a person, just as he was. It was clearly intelligent, it spoke, it used tools, and it flew spaceships. What places had it visited? What things had it seen? Other worlds, surely. Probably other star systems as well. He doubted if the cat was from Mars, and it certainly wasn’t from any of the other uninhabitable planets in our solar system, so it must have come from the stars.

  Regardless of where it was from, he and the cat were kindred spirits now. They’d fought together, and in doing so they had become linked in some indefinable way. He liked the cat, and he liked the feeling.

  His gaze lifted to study the ship above his head. The distant edge of its burnished disc disappeared in the darkness, so immense was the craft. A real space ship! In fact, it was probably a starship. True, the witch was part of it, yet his excitement blossomed. Would they let him inside, let him look around? He’d earned the privilege. They owed him, sort of; he’d helped save their butts. Did these aliens believe in gratitude?

  Looking to the cat once again, he knew the cat wouldn’t let him down. He stood up and looked toward the lighted area surrounding the ramp. What awaited him there? He started walking toward it. The cat fell in beside him.

  The cat stopped at the foot of the ramp and sat back on its haunches to stare up into the ship, waiting as only a cat can wait. Mike stopped beside him. The woman appeared at the top of the ramp and stopped, her steady gaze focused only on him.

  A chill ran through his body. He must have telegraphed his feelings, for her lips compressed in determination as she started down the ramp, though faltering
steps and deep circles of exhaustion around her eyes betrayed the effort needed. She held her head high, her focus just him.

  Knowing what those eyes could do, he took a step backward, then another, his grip tightening on the blaster, uncertain. He stopped at a low growl from the cat, turning to it with a questioning look, but it simply returned his stare, the way all cats return stares. By the time he turned back to the woman, she had reached the bottom of the ramp.

  What do you say to aliens when all the fighting has stopped, he wondered? As it turned out, he said nothing. With those large, brown eyes focused solely on his, she raised a gun to his face and shot him.

  Chapter Two: Rider

  Mike woke up lying on the floor of a padded cell. There was no other way to describe the room: four bare padded walls, padded ceiling and floor, no windows, no door.

  He pulled himself into a sitting position, his mind focused first on himself. His body seemed to be okay, though his clothes were a disaster and his shoes and socks were missing. A days-old beard attested to the fact that he’d been here for a while, and a fierce hunger reinforced that conclusion. He probably smelled, but that was the least of his problems at the moment.

  What did matter was that his life had changed. In the blink of an eye, everything he’d worked for was gone. His company, his plans, his car, his friends and relatives, everything that had ever mattered was lost to him. Mike couldn’t say why he knew, but he knew he was aboard the ship. He was a prisoner of aliens.

  Aliens! He shook his head, blinking his eyes. Aliens? Both hands came involuntarily to his face to rub his eyes, and his knees drew up toward his chest. He rested his arms on his knees, deeply troubled. Had he gone mad?