by Jason Parent
“And you led them here!” she shouted. “You’re responsible for this!”
Tryst’s words cut him deeply. Connor knew they were true. He didn’t know how exactly, but it must have been him that brought their enemies to their gates. He deserved her criticism and, perhaps, her punishment.
But even then, Connor knew what defending the cabin would mean for them. Even if the Symorians survived, the tension between them and the humans would increase tenfold. The cabin would not withstand an assault. His own chances for survival were slim. He knelt on the floor to escape the rising smoke. Through coughs, he struggled to speak.
“Even if you manage to force them to retreat, they’ll just come back, the next time in greater numbers and with bigger weapons. They probably have bombers standing by as we speak.”
“Then we’ll kill them all,” Tryst said, not sounding the least bit afraid. Connor was afraid. If he couldn’t reason with Tryst, her rebelliousness would get them all killed. But his heart had trouble admitting the words he needed to say. He had failed them a second time, a failure that had obviously wounded Tryst deeply. Hadn’t she lost enough?
“I’m sorry,” was, at first, all he could say. The air around them turned putrid. Its poisonous fumes contaminated his mind as well as his body. Connor fought it as best he could. Between wheezing breaths of potassium chlorate, he found his courage.
“You’re right. Although not my intention, this is my fault. They must have followed me here. But, Tryst, please. You have to let this place go. If you stay, they’ll just burn it to the ground.”
Something slammed into the front door, rattling it on its hinges. Connor assumed it to be a battering ram. Milliken placed his palms flat against the bar on the door, offering his body weight as additional support.
Tryst seemed unconvinced by Connor’s plea. She stood poised, glaring at the door with a look of demonic frenzy. A window upstairs broke, followed by another smoke grenade rolling down the stairwell.
They’re inside. It was only a matter of time before their invaders made their move. He doubted they had long to wait. A second bang came at the front door. Its rotting wood splintered. Soon, they’d break through. Then, all hell would break loose.
“It won’t hold much longer,” Milliken said, still pressing against it. Connor could barely make him out, the smoke thickening until it was blinding.
“Tryst, please,” Connor begged. “Please.”
Perhaps his pathetic tone hit home. Tryst seemed moved by his words. Her pride seemed to sink within her, weighed down by a heavy sadness.
“Milliken,” she said. “We’re leaving.”
The words couldn’t have been spoken sooner. Smoke emitted from Connor’s lungs with each cough. Fearing the poisonous air would soon kill him, he thought to break for the window. But he was sure his attackers were waiting for him to do so. He inhaled painfully, searching for fresh air but finding none. He was suffocating, and he knew it. The realization enhanced his loss of breath, speeding him closer to suffocation. Connor collapsed to the floor, his consciousness waning. He covered his mouth with his elbow and prayed for forgiveness.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered weakly.
“Grab him,” Tryst said as she hovered near him, appearing as a shadow in the haze. A bigger shadow loomed closer. A moment later, Connor was back on his feet, not of his own volition. A hand slapped him on the back. Then, all went blank.
“Oh no,” Connor said, his consciousness returning. He broke free of Milliken’s grasp and keeled over. Vomit erupted from his mouth in painful lurches before he could regain his breath or take notice of his surroundings.
When his heaving seemed to be tapering off, culminating in a rancid belch, Connor stared at a barf-stained tiled floor. It had a familiarity to it, but he couldn’t yet place it. He stood, and all became clear. He was in his college classroom. The notes from his lecture on plate tectonics were still on the blackboard. Tryst and Milliken stood beside him.
“Well, that sure as hell beats any ride at Disney World,” Connor said before lurching out another bucket full. He hoped it would be the last of it, but his stomach remained unsettled. “God, I hope I never have to do that again.”
As he slowly regained his composure, Connor could see despair written across Tryst’s face. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and approached her. At that moment, he felt only for her.
She looked up at him, rust-colored tears forming in her eyes. Milliken put his arm around her. He seemed to share her grief.
“I thought that we’d found a home,” she said. “Why can’t they just leave us alone?”
“They’ll never leave you alone,” Connor said, unwilling to look Tryst in the eye. It was the hard truth that Tryst deserved, nothing less. “What happened can’t be undone. The media and the government have made you into villains. They won’t stop until they have their retribution.”
“So what do you think we should do?” Milliken asked. “It’s your planet. We have no right to annihilate its people. But what right do the humans have to annihilate us? Like Tryst, I grow weary of running. As you know, we can defend ourselves if we so choose.”
“I know, Milliken,” Connor said, the guilt still an intolerable burden. “I suggest you do what you did in Quebec—live alone, secluded, absent any human contact whatsoever. There are plenty of remote spots like that cabin. The trick is to find one.”
Tryst’s ears perked up like a dog’s that had just been asked if it wanted a treat. For a moment, a look of hope broke her sadness. “Will you help us find one?” she asked.
“I will,” Connor replied, his heart yearning to help them, to make right the unintentional wrongs he’d done them. “I won’t rest until I find you a place you like as much as, if not more than, my grandparents’ cabin. I promise, Tryst. I owe you that much.”
She seemed hesitant to trust him, but she didn’t question aloud the veracity of his words. Hopefully, Tryst would, in time, accept his apology, if only he could keep his promise.
“But for now, you’re not safe here. They’ll be looking for you, and they’ll be using me to get to you. We’ll need to be more careful than we’ve been, than I’ve been. I’ll take no more risks.”
“Where should we go?” Milliken asked.
“There’s an abandoned warehouse over on Route 9. Scan my memories, and you’ll see the place I’m talking about. Hide out there until I find you more suitable accommodations. Many eyes will surely be on me, so it may take me some time. I won’t risk visiting you again.”
“How will we reach you?” Tryst asked.
“Why don’t you meet me at my home in exactly one week’s time? I’ll have the shades drawn, and you can teleport in. By then, I should have found something for you.”
“All right,” Tryst said, her voice lacking conviction.
Connor couldn’t change her lack of faith in him, nor could he blame her for it. He’d have felt the same way had their roles been reversed. Yet here he was, asking a Symorian once again to place her trust in him. Connor swore to himself that this time that trust would not be misplaced.
“Thank you, Connor,” she said, attempting to smile but only managing a slight curl at the corners of her mouth.
“Don’t thank me. I should never have gotten you into this mess. I’ll do whatever I can to get you out of it.”
Tryst smiled, and this time, it didn’t seem forced. She took Milliken by the hand. Then, they were gone, leaving Connor behind to clean up his vomit.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
These humans are so stupid. They’re trying to crack open a walnut with a sledgehammer, using brute strength where finesse would work so much better. What’s their expression? Ah, yes. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.
“Right, Lenyx?” he asked the alien corpse that lay exposed before him. “Ah, but you’re no cat. Finding a way to skin you may take some doing. They think you’re a tough egg to crack.”
Kazi laughed, amused by the wealth of peculiar expressi
ons found in the English language. There was nothing difficult about cracking an egg, or skinning a cat for that matter, as long as it was dead. Paring through a Symorian’s thick hide, however, was proving to be a difficult task. The humans had tried to force the issue. So far, they’d been unsuccessful.
Kazi felt their eyes on him. The humans belonged to a wide range of professions, brimming with scientists, doctors and soldiers, the educated and conceited. He could feel the disdain behind their stares. It didn’t disturb him, though. He felt the same way toward them.
On the outside, Lenyx’s body looked exactly the same as it did the day he died. Kazi slid his fingertips across Lenyx’s chest. It felt coarse, rugged and stronger than it had ever been. He pounded on the corpse’s pectoral muscle with his fist. It sounded like he was knocking on a batting helmet, the skin smooth and arched in a similar fashion.
Since his death, Lenyx had been pummeled by everything from armor-piercing rounds to rocket-propelled grenades. None of the humans’ weapons had any effect. He’d been stabbed, bludgeoned, crushed and lasered. Still, his dead exoskeleton endured.
When the soldiers had exhausted their methods, the doctors explored every inch of Lenyx, every nook and crevice on his body. They searched for a weak spot, some bit of soft tissue. Even the alien’s most sensitive areas withstood the worst the humans could throw at them.
For all their experimentation, the only vulnerabilities they could find were Lenyx’s orifices. A well-placed slender blade driven into the ear canal, a well-angled bullet shot directly into the mouth or a well-lubricated cattle prod shoved fiercely up the anus seemed to be the humans’ best bets at causing the aliens any real discomfort. All required considerable skill, lottery-winning luck and close proximity and, in the case of the latter, a naked alien. Even the lenses of Lenyx’s eyes were durable; in combination with his eyelids, they made his eyes impenetrable.
Kazi silently mocked the humans for their foolishness. He suspected that killing a Symorian would be easy for anyone willing to think outside the box. But the scientists didn’t know how Kazi received his abilities. They didn’t know how easily water found its way under his skin. Only one human had witnessed that. When Kazi escaped his temporary confines, he would make sure that particular human could never tell another soul what he had witnessed.
So Earth’s brightest scientists stuck to the conventional. Killing Symorians wouldn’t be easy by conventional means. The humans sought a better way to kill them. They expected Kazi to show it to them.
First things first. How does one kill a supercharged Symorian? If he were living, Lenyx’s porous body would excrete harmful poisons and chemicals introduced into it, pushed out by our internal filtration systems, a combination of excretory and endocrine system functions. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work. Kazi laughed. He was no specialist in Symorian anatomy, but he knew the basics, which was far more than could be said of the humans. Of all the animals on Earth, the Symorian excretory system, in part, resembled that of a human’s, but also that of a shark’s; Symorians excreted some bodily waste through their skin.
He gnashed his teeth. Move over, great white. I’m the Earth’s new top predator. He smiled. These guppies will learn soon enough.
“Lenyx,” Kazi said aloud, not caring who was listening. “You and I have some experimenting to do. It’s all in the name of science. Do try to be a good sport about it, will you?” He cackled the screeching laugh of a man gone mad. But Kazi found himself impeccably sane, saner than his former commander had been. He would have killed the human aggressors long before they could have fired their first shot. Under his rule, Lenyx might have lived. His former leader’s hesitation, his compassion, had put him on that cold metal slab.
Kazi leaned in close to Lenyx’s ear. This time, his words were meant solely for the corpse. “When I’m done with you,” he whispered, “I’m going to have my way with Tryst over and over again. Well, after Milliken’s dead anyway, a small matter that will soon be corrected.” A devious smile formed widow’s peak-shaped indentations in his cheeks. He righted and glared at his captors, unable to extinguish his corrupt grin.
“Ted,” Kazi said, addressing the only scientist he recognized. “This may take some time, particularly since I’m unable to obtain any sensory feedback.”
Ted shrugged. “We’ve been instructed to cooperate with you unless or until you pose a threat. We’ll get you anything you need within reason.”
“Good. I’ll need as much as you are willing to entrust me with of the following items: acetonitrile, hydrochloric acid, potassium chloride, chlorine and liquid nitrogen. I will also need scalpels, needles of varying gauges, a chisel, a bone saw, a hammer and ice pick and some internal scopes.”
Most of the items on Kazi’s list were thrown in for good measure. There was only one item he truly wanted: hydrochloric acid. The rest were distractions, useless items intended only to keep the humans guessing. Kazi already suspected he knew how to kill his own kind. But theories were useless if not tested.
“I’m assuming you will be recording everything I do.”
“Yes,” Ted replied. “Again, we’ll get what we can of the items you requested, but our people will be using them under your instructions.”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” Kazi said, rolling his eyes. He was anxious to get started. The sooner he did, the sooner he could rid himself of his human housemates. “As soon as you bring me those items, I’ll begin.”
Nearly a full day came and went, during which Kazi spent his time pacing beside Lenyx’s dead body. He had never smelled a rotting Symorian before, cremation their disposal method of choice back home. The corpse’s odor was intolerable. Kazi hated the humans for making him wait so long. He hated the humans for many reasons, ranging from the superficial, like their unpleasant stench and soft hands, to what he saw as more fundamental failings, like their misguided faith and their inadaptable mindsets. Mostly, Kazi hated them for their foolhardy belief that Earth and its not-so-glorious people passed for “intelligent life” in a galaxy they shared with him.
But at that moment, it was the waiting that irritated him. Boredom made him stir crazy. Slowly, the room filled with monitors, lights, cameras and all sorts of medical equipment, transforming Kazi’s cell into a televised operatory. He knew the humans didn’t trust him, and even more than that, they feared him. As soon as he gave them what they wanted, they would use it against him.
They will attempt to. Kazi threw back his shoulders. Let them try. They will fail. The humans are too confident for their own good, lower life forms thinking themselves grand. His animosity poisoned his mind, constantly leading it to thoughts of ruling where one with his power should.
Stoking his anger, Kazi felt slighted by their boldness, their thinking that killing him would be so easy. The scientists took tons of chances just to find out how to kill his kind, relying solely on the chain that bound Kazi to the floor to protect them.
They should be more concerned with defense than offense. How will they save themselves should I break free? He smiled, suddenly amused by the humans’ notion that they had the upper hand.
The caustic sound of his chain scraping against the floor wiped the smirk from his face. He needed a distraction to preoccupy his mind. So when the doctors started to appear with the items he requested, Kazi dove headfirst into the role of legitimate researcher. He made sure each camera displayed what it was recording on a console of monitors beside him. Internal scopes were sent down Lenyx’s throat to several locations, none recognizable to the humans. But Kazi had ordered their placement and made sure they were placed accurately.
Then, the testing began. Kazi acted surprised when he broke a scalpel against Lenyx’s hide, even going so far as to test another on his own with the same result. He pretended to be shocked when a saline solution dried instantly on Lenyx’s skin. How could a chisel not leave a mark when swung as hard as he could into Lenyx’s sternum? Kazi feigned his disbelief. It was all for sh
ow, a mockery of science. It produced no results.
At last came the hydrochloric acid. It sat on the table beside him. Glancing at it, Kazi could barely control his delight. He resisted the urge to reach for it, prolonging his charade with other devices, attempting to downplay its importance in the eyes of his many observers. Patience, Kazi, he told himself. All in due time.
As it sat beside him on a table, Kazi rushed through some unproductive instructions to a fool wielding a band saw. It was difficult for him to fake his surprise when the saw broke against Lenyx’s skin at an elbow joint, his mind always veering back to the acid. He checked a monitor, making the camera remained where he had instructed. The scope was lodged in a spot behind what used to be Lenyx’s lungs, where endocrine glands should have been located in a healthy Symorian. To an unknowing observer, the scope viewed an unidentifiable pile of rotting organs, partially liquefied. To Kazi, it showed disfigured glands that secreted hormones into the bloodstream, purifying it of toxins that would then excrete out the pores of Lenyx’s skin had his organs been functional.
The camera in place, Kazi was ready to test his theory. “Pour a few drops of the hydrochloric acid on his chest,” he said to one of the scientists assisting him.
“We already tried acid,” the know-it-all type responded, his thin-rimmed glasses propped at the end of a long, slender nose. “It didn’t work.”
Kazi grumbled to himself, offering the grossly misinformed human no retort. Externally, maybe. But if I’m correct, this is what made his insides deteriorate in the first place.
“Humor me,” Kazi said to the scientist. He was beginning to lose his patience. But the human complied, pouring a few drops of the liquid onto Lenyx’s stomach. It fizzled a bit, then disappeared, leaving no sign that it had ever been there.