INVASION EARTH
by
David Tienter
Copyright © David Tienter 2017
Cover Creation © Tienter 2017
Published by Devil’s Tower
(An Imprint of Ravenswood Publishing)
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher and/or author.
Ravenswood Publishing
1275 Baptist Chapel Rd.
Autryville, NC 28318
http://www.ravenswoodpublishing.com
Printed in the U.S.A.
ISBN-13: 978-1973982067
ISBN-10: 1973982064
A special thanks to my Neighbor, Merle Harper, and to Monica and Keith Mallow. Their friendship, infectious support, and enthusiasm has been invaluable.
THE GATHERING
The trees crowd in close on the tiny opening in the canopy. Branches stretch out seeming to draw heat from the fire now built high with dead-fall wood. From a distance comes the soothing sound of waves washing gently against a shore. A small native tribe dances clockwise around the blaze, braving the heat in their celebration, their arms held high above their heads while their hands make clacking sounds in staccato rhythms. They sing as they move to ancient melodies, inborn memories from a long-dead race. Their song fills the night as it echoes back from the black wall of the forest.
A single young girl climbs high to stand on the stump of a fallen tree. Her word “Sit” stops the dance. The group moves together, slowly forming a semi-circle around the speaker. They sit as one, holding hands now to share in the harmony of the celebration.
She raises both hands above her, reaching toward the distant stars. Slowly she spreads both arms until one is pointed at a distant planet, the other at the moon. Her performance starts.
“Now,” she begins. “Now is the time for the telling of our mother Mary.
Mary the Creator. Mary the Nourisher. She who walked in glory accompanied by the greatest of ancient warriors, Trist. This is the way of us. We are because they were, and long we pray that their story will be told. Give us courage to wrest continued survival in this desolate place. Let the telling continue down long generations.”
CHICAGO DAYS
“Okay, okay,” said Trist, throwing his feet over the side of the bed. Sitting, yawning, he slapped the alarm clock button. He’d been up late at his close friend Sal’s bachelor party. Too many people drinking too much beer in a smoky atmosphere. Trist didn’t drink or smoke, and the smoky atmosphere had locked up his sinuses. Arriving home during the early hours with his head stuffed up and his body aching from lack of sleep resulted in strange dreams interrupted by nothing
but blankets tossed from one side of his bed to the other. Exhausted, he trudged to the bathroom and stood twice as long as he normally did under the hot water.
The steamy heat seemed to help clear his head. As he stepped out onto the rug, his body was thrown off balance by what felt like a gentle tug. He quickly grabbed the sink’s edge until he was steady.
His right hand seemed a little blurry to him. “What the heck?” He returned to the bedroom and felt along the bed-stand for his specs. With glasses on his hand looked normal. Something’s wrong here, he thought, losing my balance like that means either I got me a sinus infection or food poisoning from that pork last night. Maybe a little exercise and fresh air will make me feel better.
He pulled shorts and jersey off the hook in his closet, snugged them up tight and fastened the laces of his Nikes. He pulled on his light Cubs jacket as he headed for the door. The October morning winds in Chicago could be brisk, another month or two and there would be snow. The long sleeves and hoody would keep him warm until the running heated up his body. He did a few perfunctory
stretches, took the stairs down, two at a time, hit the exit moving, and bore eastward toward the lake. The sharp bite of the air, rich in oxygen, helped clear his head and he settled into his long-distance-eating stride. At the halfway point, he stopped for a few minutes talking to Albert, a street person he was friendly with.
Albert was always out early, not liking to spend more time than necessary at the shelter. Summers he usually slept on the beach. The two had been meeting like this for months now, with Trist providing Albert a little money for breakfast when he was short. Standing still, listening to one of Al’s old jokes, Trist felt the force pull against him, almost like a stiff wind, gripping at him, and he stumbled. Albert caught his arm. “Steady there, my man.”
“Thanks,” said Trist. He slipped Albert five bucks this morning. “Be sure to get a good breakfast. That wind is growing sharp.” He watched Albert pocket the five, and then headed back with a faster pace. He was at his building in twenty minutes.
Sweating hard now, he looked in askance at the stairs, and went straight to the elevators. He leaned against the back wall and idly watched the lights move up the panel, marking his passage up. It was at the third floor that the strange feeling hit him again, another pull. This time it was stronger, much like a large hand trying to grab him. He was thrown off balance and held onto the handrails to keep from falling. Has to be a sinus infection, he thought.
By the time he returned to his apartment, he’d made up his mind. Sick day. He called the office, stripped off his gear, donned his pajamas, and went back to sleep.
Trist worked at a research hospital. He had been introduced to the work while he was still an enlisted man and had loved it. After college, he had applied for the job as a civil servant. The current head of his department, Dr. Duffy, had remembered his name and pulled strings to have Trist hired. Most of Trist’s time was dedicated to meticulously recording the results of the scientist’s experiments. Each day was much like every other day, but Trist had found he enjoyed a very structured life. Change was not something he sought out. Certainly one advantage to the job was his being able to call in sick when he needed to.
DIFFERENT DAYS
Certain days are different in everyone’s life. Trist found himself this morning sitting on a bench at a bus stop, looking at his bare feet, and knew this was one of those days. Not just different like on the day you get married, or your first child is born. This day was a no-holds-barred, weirdly different day. He’d not been outside and barefooted since he was two, twenty-five years ago.
A gentle breeze, cool and soft, had awakened him to an egg-shell-white sky. He lay back quietly on the bench, aware that a pale yellow sun was trembling quietly with the birth of a new day. This was absolutely not his bedroom. The room he’d gone to sleep in did not have a bench. He sat up again and eyed his surroundings. He looked down the road to his left, then to his right. Nothing was moving, no cars, no people, not even a stray dog. He looked up and saw the roof of the bus stop shelter. Caught up in the courage of the moment, he stood and reached his hands high over his head. He felt the hard translucent surface of the roof.
His head ached fiercely. Everything was wrong. No vehicles were moving, no people were walking, and there were no shoes on his feet. He was sure he was in a bus shelter. It looked and felt exactly like a Chicago Transit Authority bus shelter. The road, on the other hand, did not look like a Chicago road. He walked across the road counting four paces. He figured that it was, at best, eight feet wide. Maybe he was a little off, as he stepped carefully with his tender bare feet.
Rain beg
an to pour down heavily. Water splashed off the shelter top onto the road and sidewalk, but the rain was confined to falling on the roof of the shelter. It’s not right, he thought, this can’t be Illinois rain and it certainly cannot be a Chicago bus stop.
After pondering the wonder of his bare feet, he noticed the bus sign. It was the standard shape, he’d recognized it immediately, but it read BUS TERM. Just a little bit off. It should have read BUS STOP. Still, he could have accepted that, except the S in bus looked more like an 8. BU8 Term. What had been a fierce headache, was now a thundering starburst.
He lay back on the bench and rubbed his eyes. Ach, no glasses. No wonder he had a headache. How on earth had he gotten here? Must have been sleepwalking. He’d heard of others who had awakened in strange places after they had been sleepwalking and then would have no knowledge of where they were. He’d never sleepwalked, but that was what must have happened. Except, he did not recognize the area, the sign was spelled incorrectly, and he couldn’t have walked far without shoes or his feet would be a little bloody. The pain of his feet walking barefooted would surely have awakened him.
Another strange thing. The road in front of him was only one lane. He searched his memory, but could not remember ever seeing bus stops on one-lane roads. The road looked more like an alley, with three-story buildings crowding it on both sides. Still no people, no traffic, which meant this couldn’t be Chicago, and he was probably dreaming this.
He pinched his leg. Ouch. It hurt but changed nothing. If he had been asleep, he was still asleep. He stood on the bench and jumped down. Damn, that really hurt barefooted. He reached for his billfold. No billfold, double damn. If a taxi came by he couldn’t take it to his apartment with no money. He noticed then he was still in his pajamas, damn, damn, and triple damn. He splashed some of the water dripping off the roof of the bus station onto his face. Nothing. He was sure now he was not dreaming.
He heard a sound to his left and saw a double-decker bus coming down the road to the bus stop. It sheesht to a stop. The door flapped open and the driver, a youngish-looking girl with mousy brown hair and a plain, green-colored dress, shouted at him. “Come on, Trist. We need to move now before they find out where you are.”
The girl was small, fragile-appearing, with large brown eyes.
“Hurry, Trist. We have to go now. There’s a sword on my trail. I saw it several miles back.”
Trist could not remember ever seeing her before. He certainly did not understand her remark about a sword being on her trail. He thought, must have met her at the party last night. He ran to the bus and jumped in. Anything would be better than just sitting on a bus stop bench, broke and barefooted. Besides, he would be going with a girl. He’d always been attracted to young brown- haired girls. A further plus was that she might know what was happening to his world this day.
He was thrown back hard against the bus seats and crashed to his side on the floor of the bus as she accelerated before he could be seated. Struggling to stand, his side paining him fiercely from the fall and groaning from the pain, he pulled himself forward to a seat behind the girl.
“You could have been a little gentler on that take off. Damn, I think you broke a few of my ribs.”
“We have to go fast, Trist. I’m trying to keep us alive.”
Watching the girl drive, he realized she wasn’t that small, it was the driver’s seat where she sat that was huge. Glancing around the bus, he saw all the seats were enormous.
“What is this, a transport bus for mountain gorillas?“ he asked.
“What?”
“Never mind, never mind. Just tell me, how do you know my name?”
“I’m Mary,” she said. “I brought you here.”
“You brought me here? What the hell does that even mean?”
“I pulled you here through the exigater to this planet. This is Tonk. But keep your questions until later, we got to get away from that mobile sword or I’ll be dead. If I die, you’ll be here alone surrounded by enemies.”
Trist deeply regretted that he had not remained at the bus stop. Everything this girl told him terrified him more.
The bus leaned, teetered and swung wildly into corners, and flew down straight ways. Always there were buildings close to the road. Mary turned up and down streets apparently randomly. Once she stopped for a minute, stared hard at the road behind them, then accelerated rapidly again.
“Damn, the little bastard is still behind us. You,” she commanded, “turn around and see if you can see anything gaining on us.”
Trist turned to watch the road behind, but saw nothing. No cars, no people, nothing moving, there was only the road and buildings. “Nothing back there,” he said.
“It’s back there. Watch the middle of the road. It’ll appear as a puff of dust, or perhaps you’ll see sunlight glint off from it. It’s only four inches tall so you’ll have to watch closely.”
“Four inches tall? Listen, Sweetheart, first off, I don’t have my glasses on, and secondly, how fucking bad can this thing be? Why not turn around and run it down?”
“Cause that mobile sword back there is what you earthlings would call a doomsday weapon. It has three moving arms. Each arm has three blades. The blades spin about a thousand times a minute. It’s on track wheels that function anywhere and it can propel itself at fifty miles an hour. Nothing can break it. Nothing can stop it. It’s totally indestructible. Once it’s put on the trail of someone or a group of people, it’s only a matter of time until it kills its assigned target. That sword would cut through this bus like a razor blade through monkey snot. Now turn around and watch. Tell me when you see it.”
“Crap, I think I do see it,” said Trist. “Is there any way to get away from it?”
“I don’t think so, but it’s going to kill me when it catches us, so I have to try. Someone has programmed it with my DNA. Whoever that bastard is, I hope he dies a miserable death.”
Mary continued to speed down the road, taking tight curves and trying to lose the mobile sword in the maze of buildings. Then she made a wrong guess and turned into a dead-end corner which ran up tight against a building under construction. There was no going around it. She heard the grinding noise of the sword working at the back of the bus, and, grabbing Trist’s hand, she dashed for the building.
“Ease up a bit, I’m barefooted here. These rocks are killing me.”
She jumped on the construction elevator, cranked the handle up high, and the open cage leaped skyward.
“Damn, damn, damn, we’ll never make it now,” she shouted into Trist’s ear as the elevator ground to a stop at the building’s top floor.
“I think we’re up about fifteen floors. The sword will grind its way up the girders and be here in a minute or two. Listen, I’ll try to tell you enough to keep you alive.” Looking downward through the semi-opaque floors, she said, “Damnation, it’s half-way here already.
“I brought you to this world because you have immunity from quartzline dust. Within the reach of our sensors, you’re the only one I could find. I scanned many planets before I found you. We need you because we’ve detected an asteroid cluster that will pass within 14 parsecs. It’s carrying quartzline dust on it and will be close enough that the fall-out will be a death cloud surrounding our planet. We believe this will be a lifeless planet within ten days after the asteroid cluster passes. It’s expected to be here in about three weeks. That worthless government we have here spends most days arguing whether it will be 21 or 22 days. Like it really matters. I brought you here to try to perfect a serum that would make the people on the planet immune, but the government found out what I was doing and they want you now. They’ve concluded a serum is not feasible in the time frame we have. They want to drain your blood and eat your flesh, in an attempt to make themselves impervious to the effects of the disease. Truth of the matter is, time is short and you’re our only hope.”
“So you brought me to a planet where everyone wants to kill me?”
“Not everyo
ne, you have me until that sword catches me. I have a lab already set up and with your help, maybe we can perfect an immunizing agent.”
“Me the only immune person? How did that happen?”
“Don’t know. What I do know is that there will be thousands of bad people ready to tear you apart if they find you. When I die here, make your way to my laboratory at 2200 Third Street. My technicians may help you.”
The ominous grinding noise made by their attacker stopped, and Trist turned to see the mobile sword come over the edge of the building to their floor. He smiled to see how tiny it was. It reminded him of a softball. He picked up a wooden two-by-four lying on the construction equipment and held it over his head. Doomsday weapon indeed; he figured he would smash that little fucker to the floor and break it apart.
It stood about four inches tall and he could see the three whirling blades attached to each of its arms. The blades spun so fast that they looked like it was carrying three shot glasses. A rotating band of light circled it at mid-beam. The light blinked rapidly, as if seeking prey.
The light stopped blinking. It locked on Mary and began to move rapidly at her.
“I’m going to smash it,” yelled Trist, raising the board above his head.
Five feet from Mary, it leaped into the air at her face. Trist slid rapidly into a batter’s stance, learned playing high school baseball, and swung. He caught the sword at his knee level and he knew this hit was heading for the fences.
Crack. He caught it squarely. The board was smashed into kindling, but the mobile sword was sent flying over the side of the building.
Trist dropped the small hilt of board still in his hands. He had felt the power of hitting the sword from his hands to the base of his spine. He’d never hit anything that solid before. The weight and power of the small robot was vastly beyond what he had imagined.
Invasion Earth Page 1