Sullivan Saga 3: Sullivan's Watch

by Michael K. Rose

  “You landed a ship on the roof?”

  “Yes. And I will assist in evacuating as many people as I can, but I need to see Agent Ives first.”

  “You’re not with the Bureau?”

  “No. I’m kind of a consultant.”

  The officer holstered his weapon. “You look familiar.”

  Sullivan smiled as he stepped toward the front door of the building. “I guess I have one of those faces.” He cracked the door open and looked out. “I’ll be back soon.”

  The officer nodded, and Sullivan jogged out into the street. He swung his head to the left and to the right as he ran and reached the building opposite without incident.

  The door clicked open as he knocked, and he hurried in, closing it securely behind him. He turned and held his hand out to Ives. “Jeff.”

  Ives shook the hand. “I never thought I’d see you again, Sullivan. I never wanted to see you again. Christ….”

  Sullivan nodded. “I can accept how you feel about me. It’s completely justified. But right now, there are more important things to deal with.”

  “Right. Come up to my apartment.”

  Ives led Sullivan up then, after they had taken their seats around his kitchen table, said, “Where’s Frank?”

  Sullivan smiled. “Frank is… well, he’s around.”

  “What does that mean? He’s here on Earth?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “What the hell, Sullivan?”

  Sullivan cleared his throat. “After the raid on Zednik’s compound—after Liz died—Frank went after Zednik. Well, I was after him, too, because he was still holding Kate Alexander hostage. Our paths crossed. I won’t get into the details right now, but Zednik was killed, Kate was rescued and that should have been the end of the story for Frank. He should have come home to Earth, mourned Liz properly. But he decided to follow me to Faris then to Edaline to help fight the war.”

  “So he was on Edaline.”

  “Yes. And because of everything we’d been through, we became really close friends, Jeff. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  “He’s a good friend to everybody.”

  Sullivan nodded. “Well, we settled on Silvanus for a while, but between rescuing Kate and going to Edaline, we’d encountered a strange entity in hyperspace.”

  Ives raised an eyebrow. “Entity?”

  “Yes. Sentient but not physical. Made up of energy. One of these entities took the form of Liz and began brainwashing Frank. They were using him to get both him and me to a parallel Earth.”

  “You mean…?”

  “Another universe, Jeff. If you travel deeply enough into hyperspace, you come out in another universe.”

  “I think I’ve read something about that. But I thought it was only a theory. I thought we couldn’t penetrate that deeply into hyperspace because of the energy requirements.”

  “Well, Kate Alexander’s father found a way. And that ship on the roof across the street is equipped with what’s called hyper-hyperspace technology. With that technology, travel between stars takes days instead of weeks or months. But the hyperspace entities sent us to that other universe under false pretenses. They said only we could stop an invasion from these creatures that have been running rampant here. But in reality, it seems they were only using us as bait.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. Frank hasn’t explained it all to me yet.”

  “Where is he, Sullivan?”

  “He’s… his body is dead, but he’s transformed into an entity like the ones I told you about. And he’s been warning me, guiding me. He told me to come to Earth. I haven’t seen him since I left Faris, but once I arrived in the system I could see why I need to be here. Frank must have found a way to stop the aliens, and as soon as he lets me know, I’ll be ready to do what needs to be done.”

  Ives looked down at the table. “I see. So what are you going to do until then?”

  “There are people who need to be evacuated, right? I have a ship. Will you help me?”

  Ives stood. “Of course.”

  “If we really pack the freighter’s hold, I can take about fifty at a time.”

  “All right. Let’s get everyone in this building across the street while the coast is clear. Then we’ll search the other buildings. Hopefully, official evacuation plans are already underway.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that right now, Jeff. Have you been watching the news?”

  “I have.”

  “Then you know the authorities are trying to deal with the evacuation of over a billion people to areas that aren’t already under attack. And those creatures are spreading and increasing in number with every minute that passes. I have a feeling we’re on our own.”

  7

  THE GUARDS WERE screaming in Italian. Brother Peter rushed to the bars of his cell and looked out into the corridor. As a guard rushed past, he reached his arm through the bars and tried to stop him.

  “What’s happening?”

  The guard stopped and looked at him with wild eyes. “They’re here. They’re inside the prison!”

  “Who?”

  “Those creatures!”

  Brother Peter dropped to his knees. He’d been watching the news and was aware of the chaos that had erupted over the past day and a half, but he was certain he would have been safe in the prison. He backed away from the bars, and the guard rushed off.

  But he still was safe, wasn’t he? Those things couldn’t get him through the bars of his cell. He’d be safe for the time being, and surely someone would come rescue them before they starved to death. They were prisoners, but they were still human beings.

  Brother Peter turned on the screen embedded in the wall of his cell. It was already on a news station, and he watched as a reporter narrated the events unfolding on the screen: video clips of the creatures, footage of the destruction on Mars, military personnel being mobilized, people being evacuated. Then he saw a line of text running along the bottom of the screen and knew no one would be coming for him or any of the other prisoners: “OVER ONE BILLION TO BE EVACUATED.”

  Peter clicked the screen off and knelt beside his bed. “Dear Lord, I pray for protection and forgiveness in this time of chaos. Whatever my past trespasses, I will see your will done from this point forward. And if I am to die here, please let it be in peace, knowing that my place is by your side. Amen.”

  Peter lowered his head to the mattress but jerked it back up as a deep-throated alarm blared. The sound of sliding metal made him turn his head to the bars of his cell. The door was being opened! He got to his feet and cautiously poked his head out. The doors to all the other cells had been opened as well.

  Peter went out and saw a guard at the far end, near the control panel that opened and closed the cell doors.

  “Why did you let us out? What are we supposed to do?”

  The guard looked up with tears in his eyes. “Corri, dannazione! Run, damn it!”

  Peter was swept up by the rush of the other prisoners as they made their way toward the end of the corridor. The guard who had opened the cells went ahead of them, unlocking each door as they went until they were in the yard. Peter looked up at the towers. They were crowded with guards, but none of them seemed concerned with the prisoners. Their attention was on the yard of one of the other cell blocks, on the other side of a barbed wire-topped chain-link fence.

  As Peter watched, men—both guards and prisoners—began rushing out of the cell block and into the yard. Gunfire erupted from the towers. Peter tried to see past the crowd of prisoners around him but could see only chaos as the men in the other yard ran from the cell block and toward the outer fence.

  Peter managed to shoulder his way closer to the fence and finally saw what the guards in the towers were firing at. Half a dozen of the creatures he’d seen on the television were leaping about, sinking teeth and claws into the men. Another emerged from the cell block and attacked a guard who was trying to close the door.

  Peter guessed
they had breached the other side of the prison. He backed away and turned his attention to the activity in his own yard. Men were scaling the fence, trying to escape. Several of them were at the top, but their prison uniforms were caught on the barbed wire.

  The fence to Peter’s right rattled, and he looked over to see one of the creatures climbing over from the other yard. The men around him began screaming, and the rush for the far fence grew desperate as men pushed and climbed over each other.

  A dozen shots sounded, and the man in front of Peter fell to the ground. Peter glanced back at the other yard. The guards in the far tower were shooting at the creature on the fence, but in doing so, some of their shots were passing through the fence, into Peter’s yard.

  Peter knelt by the fallen man. He was dead, blood rushing from a wound in the side of his head.

  Peter heard a deep hissing sound behind him. He stood and turned. The creature had made it over the fence. Peter ran in the opposite direction. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw that the creature had leapt onto one of the stragglers and was ripping at his throat with its teeth.

  After what seemed like minutes but couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds, Peter was at the fence and climbing. Directly above him was a line of men, and at the top, one of the men who had been the first to scale the fence was hooked helplessly on the barbed wire. The other men were climbing over him, driving his body more deeply onto the barbs.

  Peter reached the top and climbed over the man. “Forgive me, brother,” he whispered as he passed.

  The man’s curses of pain and anger suddenly erupted into a howl of agony. Peter looked back. The creature had quickly dispatched the rest of the men left in the yard and had now turned its attention to the fence. It had latched its teeth onto the ankle of the man Peter was climbing over.

  Peter screamed along with the man, echoing his fear. As he climbed down the other side of the fence, he watched as the creature moved up farther, biting into the man’s legs, into his thighs, and finally into his back. Blood dripped down on Peter as he descended the fence, and he dared not look back up. Instead, he looked down. He was still at least three meters from the ground, but he said a quick prayer, let go of the fence and dropped.

  He bent his knees as he landed and rolled onto his side, trying to break his fall. He leapt back up to his feet and took stock. His elbow had hit the ground hard as he rolled, but it seemed to be only bruised and scraped. Peter heard the fence rattling and, without looking back, began running across the cleared ground surrounding the prison and into the woods beyond.

  Only after he’d put nearly a kilometer between him and the prison did he stop to look back and assess his situation. There were a few others around him—all prisoners, no guards—and they ignored him as they passed. Peter decided that was for the best. He wasn’t a real criminal like those men; he couldn’t trust them.

  Peter had only a vague impression of the area. He knew it was about twenty kilometers outside of Rome, and based on the direction the other men seemed to be walking, they were heading for the city. But Rome was being evacuated. Surely they wouldn’t get far before encountering military troops or roadblocks. Maybe they were hoping to be evacuated to a safe location along with the rest of the city.

  He saw one man break away from the pack. Peter began moving in his direction and, when the man stopped and looked at him, Peter smiled. “Where are you going?”

  “My village. All these other fools are going to Rome, but I have no idea why,” the man said. “That’s where most of these creatures are.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  “You’re the monk who killed the Pope.”

  Peter nodded. “I… yes.”

  The man smiled. “I never liked that Pope anyway.” He held out his hand. “My name is Marco.”

  Peter shook the hand. “Peter.”

  “Come, Peter. If we go quickly, we can be at my mother’s house in time for dinner.”

  Peter began walking behind and to the side of Marco. Something about the way he’d spoken about Pope Pius had bothered Peter, but he couldn’t afford to be picky in his companions. He had no friends and no family here, and he was very clearly a foreigner. He’d be lucky if no one else recognized him as the Pope’s killer.

  Peter glanced behind him. He could no longer see the prison, but he could still hear the gunfire. He said a silent prayer for those who had died. He knew many more prayers would need to be said before this was all over.

  II: ENGAGEMENT

  8

  ADMIRAL LONG STEPPED through the hatchway leading to the bridge of the Vigilant. “Report!”

  The helmsman looked up at his commanding officer. “Unidentified vessel on the far side of the planet. The Artemis and the Europa are within intercept range.”

  “Get them for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A second later, the helmsman nodded, and Long looked up at the large screen at the front of the bridge. Captain Harrison of the Artemis and Captain Silva of the Europa appeared on either side of the screen, with a thin black line separating the two images.

  “Captain Harrison, please report,” said Long.

  “Yes, sir. Less than a minute ago…. Stand by, sir.”

  Long watched as Harrison seemed to be monitoring his display. His eyes widened, and he looked back up. “Incoming! We’re under attack.”

  “We’re right behind you,” said Captain Silva. “We see them.”

  “Harrison, report!” yelled Long.

  “They’re firing missiles at us, sir. Firing interceptors now.”

  Long waited as the seconds ticked by, watching the feed from the Artemis as they monitored the movement of the missiles.

  “Wide-blast interceptors seem to have taken care of them,” Harrison said. “Hold on. Another salvo heading our way.”

  “Captain Harrison, return fire,” said Long. “We’re almost there. Fire offensive missiles and scramble fighters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Long paced as the Vigilant made its way around toward the night side of the planet. The orbit of Earth was too crowded with other ships and satellites for the massive carrier to be able to move quickly, and it was ten minutes before the alien ship was within sight.

  He’d been monitoring the action via the bridges of the Artemis and the Europa, but so far, the alien ship had made no further attacks. The missiles from the two battleships had exploded harmlessly against an energy shield. Now the small fighters were standing by, waiting for something to happen. If the large offensive missiles hadn’t penetrated the enemy ship’s shields, there was little chance the fighters’ weapons would be able to cause any damage.

  Long looked out the window of the bridge and saw the two battleships with the alien vessel beyond. “Magnify that ship,” he said.

  The alien ship filled the large monitor, and Long stepped forward to get a better view. It looked identical to the ship that had attacked Mars. “Let me see the footage of that ship when it fired the missiles.”

  The communications officer tapped at his console, and the image changed. As Long watched the replay from the Artemis, he saw the nose of the alien ship split into three triangular panels and slide back into the hull. A mass of missiles emerged in a closely packed ring. As soon as they were clear of the ship, they spread out and turned toward the Artemis. Shortly after that, the interceptor missiles appeared on the screen. The alien missiles changed course to avoid them, but the interceptors’ large blast radiuses caught them.

  “Harrison, Silva,” Long said. “I don’t believe for one second that that’s all the ship is going to do. I think they’re sitting back, waiting to see what else we’re capable of.”

  “I agree, sir,” said Silva.

  “Well,” said Long, “let’s show them. All ships, fire all tubes on my mark. Now!”

  Across the three ships, over a hundred missile tubes opened up and ejected their payloads. The targeting computers aboard each missile quickly adjusted course for t
he enemy ship. “Fire again on my mark. Fire!”

  Another wave of missiles followed closely behind the first. Long waited as the first wave approached the enemy ship, his heart pounding. The missiles struck the ship’s shield. A few seconds later, the next wave also struck. The monitor in front of Long went completely white as the intensity of the blasts filled the frame. When it faded away, the alien ship remained, seemingly undisturbed.

  The ports along the side of the enemy ship opened. “Magnify,” Long said. The image zoomed in on one of the ports as an object emerged from it. “Those aren’t missiles. They look like fighters.”

  Long tapped a command into the console in front of him, ordering the fighters on his ship to scramble.

  COMMANDER DAVID PICKETT, already in his fighter, checked his instruments and watched as the clock counted down to launch. There were a dozen fighters lined up in a row in the hangar, each facing a round hatchway slightly bigger than the ship. Behind the first row of twelve were three more rows of ships, each waiting to be launched.

  The hatchway in front of Commander Pickett slid open, and as the countdown clock on his instrument panel reached zero, his fighter was accelerated along the rail below the ship. He cleared the hatchway and turned to his right, aiming his fighter toward the alien vessel as the rest of his squadron fell into position beside him.

  “Let’s keep it tight,” he radioed to the other pilots. “We’re going to try to bust through then swing around and hit them from the rear.”

  As the twelve approached the enemy fighters, an indicator on Pickett’s panel started flashing. The enemy fighters were now in range. “Fire!” he ordered.

  Two dozen missiles sped away from the F-66s and toward the alien fighters in front of them. A few of the enemy ships exploded; unlike the larger alien ship, they didn’t seem to be shielded, and Pickett breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that they could be destroyed. Even so, they were highly maneuverable, and of the eight enemy fighters directly opposite Pickett’s squadron, only three were hit.