(…no, reynald. it’s too late for me. they’re so close.. there’s no time for a shadow core transfer… my pattern’s begun to dissemble. my drives are gone. there’s no escape for me, but it’s not too late for you…)
“Are there other Judas in-system?”
(…a force led by judas simon is in transit. his fleet was destroyed at the point, but he’s coming to rescue us. he’ll arrive in several cycles, well after the natives reach me…)
“So now what do we do?”
(…i jettisoned the shadow drive and it destroyed the enemy vessel that attacked us in orbit. a piece of debris from the enemy entered the atmosphere and crashed on a small island near my present position. the island is emitting shadow radiation, the only source on this planet at this time. simon will detect the shadow radiation…)
“Adjusting instrumentation for phase space detection. I see it.”
(…simon will rendezvous with you when the fleet whendrops. It’s now up to you to alert the others of kilbourne…)
“We can still try to save you!”
(…save yourselves…
“Maggie? What’s wrong?”
(…fading. power reserve depletion…pattern…
Reynald was torn. He had never felt so helpless.
“Kilbourne will pay for this. We’ll never forget your sacrifice, Maggie. Never.”
(…the purpose…
“…will be prevented.”
Simon sensed the beacon, accessed it.
The coordinates of an island…A Shadow signature? But that would mean…
No. He traced the beacon to its source.
((magdalene! maggie, this can’t be true!))
(…it doesn’t matter any more…you have to save my crew…it’s too late for me…
((don’t give up! we’ll increase speed! we’ll rescue you!! just hold on, maggie.))
(no time…
((just hold on! please hold on!))
(…simon i love you
((maggie, don’t leave me. i can’t do this without you.))
(…you can
((I CAN’T LOSE YOU AGAIN!))
(…love
((maggie, i—))
(…
((maggie?))
…
((i love you.))
She fell silent as her Shadow faded. She fell silent, forever.
At 09:45 EST, two American Spear warplanes flew over the Mariana Trench near Guam, dropping two hydrogen torpedoes onto the impact site. The Judas Gethsemane Magdalene was no more.
The Enemy tore out of the Whenstream and fell into the gap between the stars.
VICTORY. THE BLOOD OF JUDAS HAS BEEN SHED.
satisfaction.
PATTERN AUGMENTATION((?))
THOSE WHO DID NOT SUBMIT WERE DESTROYED.
THE PATTERN NEARS COMPLETION. THE PURPOSE NEARS COMPLETION.
THE BELT VOLATILES HAVE BEEN HARVESTED.
JOIN US THEN. PLANET HARVEST ENSUES. LET THE UPLOAD BEGIN. OMEGA’S GLORY BECKONS.
From the asteroid belt between Jupiter and Mars, a darkness emerged. The silver Enemy vessel, spidery, black, a cancer of sanity, arose.
WE ARE COMING.
the Black closes.
Simon.
If a machine could love, Simon had loved Magdalene.
Emptiness. Heartbreak. Rage. No word could adequately describe what he felt. The sacrifices they had made, the pain they had seen…How could he survive without her?
What did any of it matter anymore, the war, the Purpose? He had seen his only love die before his eyes a second time. The touch of her mind, the gentle reminder that she was with him always, was painfully absent. She was gone forever.
He quickened his pace.
He had received her final transmission, the coordinates to rendezvous with her crew, and then he felt her silent, mechanical scream as her atoms were torn apart. He had uttered a cry of helpless rage as he felt her die.
A part of him was gone forever, and in its place, something black was born. He would make the Enemy suffer. He would hunt them down to the last traitor.
Almost there…
Simon piloted the strike force through the Whenstream, frantically searching for the correct exit point, not wanting to over- or under-shoot Magdalene’s When.
He sensed her When beacon transmitting in the Stream, a muted, dismal tone in the emptiness between times. Is this really all there is left of her?
Simon signaled the rest of his fleet. He disengaged the Shadow drive, and felt the winds of timesweep wash over him.
((the enemy awaits us.))
He began the hibernatory stasis release process to revive his captain.
With the rage of a human, Simon crashed from the Whenstream into Magdalene’s When, and he began the silent hunt for the damned.
He would find the Enemy, and he would destroy them. Forever.
The moon of Mars. Phobos.
The two black impossibilities orbited the moon, drew closer, joined in an embrace that was at the same time tender and somehow obscene.
The Enemy was one again.
Wind River, D.C.
unrest, suspicion, rumors, denial, cover-ups, contemplation, press leaks, uproar.
anarchy?
whispers…
-you realize the implications of your presence here, don’t you, general?
-does it matter, at this point?
-indeed. let’s get down to business.
-this room is secure?
-what do you think?
-now, now, let’s calm down.
-calm down? jesus. where have you been?
-will all of you just shut up? the fate of the nation may depend on the outcome of this meeting.
-now it’s obvious that jennings is…out of control. two nuclear strikes, unprovoked nuclear strikes in one day, one on our own soil. none of our deep cover agents have reported anything unusual with our neighbors or other pact nations. jennings nuked an american town because of a meteor shower! i still don’t know how he did this without my knowledge, so that means he has allies. we can’t let this man retain the presidency. we all know his past. maybe he’s finally lost it. maybe he never really recovered…
-what do you propose to do about it, general?
-jennings must step down. he won’t do it willingly.
-no shit.
-i mean, he actually thought this was all some intricate plot to start war four on our own soil. he was muttering about invasions and deception. maybe this stretches further than we thought. he could have forces we don’t know of…he could have the styx…
-do we have enough loyalists to make this plan work?
-we will after the morning papers come out.
-so, how do we do this?
“Situation?”
((we’ve whendropped. we’ve found the enemy.))
“Simon?”
((yes, michael?))
“What’s wrong?”
((…))
“What is it, Simon?”
((maggie… they—))
“Oh god no…Simon, I—”
((michael, it’s okay. she… she felt no pain.))
Michael Zero-Four knew it was not okay. He knew everything was far from being okay. He had never heard Simon so… cold? detached? distant? Magdalene had been everything to Simon. After countless years of being the human counterpart to Simon, Zero-Four knew he was not “okay.”
“Where are they?”
((in orbit around the fourth planet’s moon.))
“How many?”
((one.))
“Then let’s get started. Take us in.”
The Judas careened down to whatever fate would meet them.
The Enemy.
Telephone.
“Yes.”
“Autopsy results, Mr. President.”
“What did you find?”
“You were right, sir. The body we found at Sawyer was a Styx. Subtle DNA signature matches. Even had the gray eyes.”
“Th
ank you.” He hung up the phone.
How the hell had Cervera pulled it off?
There were powerful forces at work here…
Who could he trust?
Yes, he had ordered the strike on the Guam site, and he stood by that decision. But he had not ordered a strike on Harkness, as the entire nation seemed to believe.
There was a coup taking place, and Jennings looked like the bad guy to the American public. How could he disprove these unspoken charges?
Cervera.
Jennings had never really trusted his Secretary of Defense. He had respected Cervera’s courage in War Three and the Quebec War, but…Well, especially since what happened to Old Washington, you just didn’t trust people.
So Cervera had Styx working for her…
Bad, bad feeling…
Nuclear weapons and Styx. What an unstoppable combination.
Santa Fosca.
With all of the confusion of dealing with the PR hyenas, he had overlooked the Styx island. The island that had started all of this…
…santa fosca was encompassed in a thermonuclear explosion.
…can we get any closer?
…sorry, mr. president…the cloud cover is too thick.
Jennings had seen the hologram of Santa Fosca, completely obscured by a thick haze. What evidence had he seen that the island had been destroyed?
None.
The pieces slid together all too well…
Cervera had faked the Santa Fosca bombing to cover up her alliance with the remaining Styx. She had somehow gotten them off that island and used them to overtake Sawyer AFB and steal a B-4. And to cover her tracks, she had bombed Harkness…
He felt the reassuring weight of the pistol hanging from the hidden holster on his chest, and below that, the dull weight of the polyalloy bullet-proof vest underneath his shirt.
He would be prepared.
He was terrified of the unseen, mysterious forces that entered his life only the day before.
No one was going to start another war with America.
No one.
The morning papers.
Headlines…
“CHAOS IN WIND RIVER: President Orders Nuclear Strikes in Guam, Michigan” —The Post.
“ATOMIC HORROR IN MICHIGAN” —The Tribune.
“Federal Troops Evacuate Town Before Nuke” —The Herald.
“COVERUP? D.C. DENIAL!!” —The Daily.
“PRESIDENT SILENT ABOUT NUKES, TROOPS” —The Times.
“JENNINGS MEETS WITH ALIEN AMBASSADOR!! PHOTOS INSIDE!” —The National Enquirer.
The Red Room.
Jennings looked over a copy of some trashy tabloid with mild interest. Apparently he had met with the aliens that crash-landed in Michigan, and they had given him the secrets of the universe. There was even a picture of him shaking hands with a short, egg-headed creature, gray with black almond eyes.
Nice.
The door slid open, and Cervera walked in, flanked by two Marines. They stood resolutely, silent. Armed.
Jennings tapped the hidden security button below the desk with his foot. He had anticipated that this might happen.
“Cervera.” He felt the reassuring heft of the gun against his side. His heart throbbed within his chest.
“Mister President, we’re here to ask you to step down.”
Calm…“I see.”
“Your actions within the last twenty-four hours have been unjustified. We’re asking you to step down peacefully, Jennings. Don’t make us use these.”
“You make me sick, Antonia. This is quite a show you’re staging. Who’s paying you for the B-4? Is it Quebec? France? Indochine? Another backwoods Pact country?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re jumping at shadows, Jennings.”
“The threat is real.”
“What threat? You’re seeing conspiracy everywhere now, aren’t you? Would you be nuking your own country if your wife hadn’t died?”
Jennings visibly flinched.
“She wasn’t the only one to die that day.”
Rage. Jennings stood so suddenly his chair overturned.
“You’re one of them, Cervera, aren’t you?”
Cervera swung her weapon up to Jennings’ face.
“This is your last chance to step down peacefully, you crazy son of a bitch.”
Jennings faced the gun, unblinking.
Cervera pulled back the hammer.
Jennings’ eyes glanced to the left for an instant, just long enough for Cervera’s own eyes to widen in terror before the sound of two gunshots filled the room, and her Marine guards fell lifeless to the floor behind her. Cervera distracted, Jennings wasted no time in swatting the revolver from her hand and drawing his own weapon, which hung inches from her face. His Milicom guards stood in the open doorway, assault rifles trained on Cervera.
“You think you have loyalists, Tony? So do I. And I’m going to expose you as the Styxie traitor you are.”
Cervera uncertainly looked behind her at the armed Milicom troops, weapons still pointed at her. Blood had stained the neutral gray carpet a sick crimson.
“You won’t get away with this.”
Jennings grinned. “Oh, but I will. I’m the President of the Allied States of America. And I believe that the penalty for treason is death.”
Cervera’s jaw dropped and she inhaled sharply before Jennings pulled the trigger. A fine mist of blood mingled with the gunsmoke in the confined space of the room, and Cervera’s lifeless body fell with a meaty thud to the floor, head torn apart by the armor-piercing bullet.
“Get them out of here.”
Jennings’ guards bent, began to drag away the bodies. Jennings casually righted his chair, slumped back into it. He placed his now-heavy revolver on the desktop. He watched blankly as Cervera’s bloody corpse was dragged from the room. The shield door cycled shut, and he was alone.
Seconds later, there were gunshots from down the hallway.
Jennings bolted upright, startled.
Gunshots.
One of his loyal Milicom officers burst into the room, blood pouring from a flesh wound on his arm.
“Mister President, they have the White House surrounded! All of Wind River’s been cut off. Cervera’s men, they killed three of—”
“Is there any way out?”
“All the entrances have been taken by her loyalists. They’re coming this way, sir.”
“Air Force One?”
“It’ll take twenty minutes to prep her.”
“Are there any other planes down there?”
“The Spear you ordered hasn’t left for Santa Fosca yet, sir.”
“Looks like that’s our only way out, son.”
More gunshots, closer.
“Come on!” They ran to the back of the Red Room, where an express elevator led down to the White House hangar. Hearing more gunshots from above, Jennings and the soldier descended into the hangar, where a VTOL Spear-4 stood ready for takeoff.
They ran as quickly as they could to the ramp of the near-vertical jet. The launch doors slid open many stories above them. As they ascended, Jennings turned around just in time to see several of Cervera’s loyalists exit the elevator, weapons drawn. As they opened fire, the officer pulled the hatch shut behind him, and the weak lead slugs bounced harmlessly off the bulletproof surface of the plane.
“Mister President, it’s highly inadvisable for you to accompany us on this combat run. We don’t know what we’re going to find on that island.”
“I’m sure I’ll be safer with you than if I stayed behind with Cervera’s forces. Proceed with the mission, and I’ll try to stay out of your way.”
“Thank you, sir. And may I say that we’re with you all the way. My father and three uncles were killed in War Three, and I lost two brothers in the Quebec War. I don’t want to see our country forced into another war any time soon. Cervera will pay for her treason.”
“Yes, she will,” Jennings whispered. “Yes. S
he will.”
The plane shuddered and flew from beneath the White House into a brilliantly blue sky, leaving the Rocky Mountains behind. It picked up speed and disappeared to the west in a liquid flash of metal.
Simon.
The Judas Simon was at the front of the formation of Shadow-driven vessels. They passed through the belt of asteroids between Jupiter and Mars without incident, wary of an Enemy ambush.
((there it is.))
They could see the vessel, a dark silhouette against the sunlit face of Phobos. The red mass that was the fourth planet, Mars, loomed above them as the vessels careened toward oblivion.
“Look at the size of it.”
((it’s preparing to harvest. synthesizing the upload generators for the attack.))
“Do they see us yet?”
((no indication that they’ve been alerted to our presence. the shadows hide us.))
“So what do you think, Simon? Do we go for it?”
((we’ve never captured an enemy at this stage of harvest before. the data we could retrieve from the phase core would be priceless.))
“Do we board it?”
((it’s the only way.))
“I know, but I still hate sending troops out into close combat.”
((so do i, but it must be done.))
“Wake them up from their heavens, Simon. Wake them all up.”
The vessels sped on.
Deep within the Judas vessels, an ancient process began anew.
Valves opened. Atmosphere was pumped into chambers where lights flickered, brightened. Heating units began to discharge warmth. Artificial gravity was restored.
Hidden servos whirred; pneumatics pressurized.
In the vast expanse of chambers, the vessel decoded the genetic patterns of thousands of beings from precious files stored for centuries aboard the Judas and began the recreation process. From the base elements of the galaxy, in a primordial stew of nutrient-rich liquid, the vessel stimulated the formation of molecules, DNA strands, cells, tissue, organs, organisms. The vessel vastly sped up the growing process, and within minutes it had created thousands of perfectly viable organisms in the expanse of stasis chambers, reconstituting from ancient binary code the uploaded consciousnesses of the beings that were the Judas.
On the surface of the spherical room, doors slid open. From within, a ghostly steam emerged.
The Judas sentiences began to monitor, probe, analyze, assess the contents of these compartments.
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