Invasion

by L. E. Thomas

  A janitor appeared in the doorway so quickly Nat jolted back.

  "You scared me," he said, placing his hand over his heart. "Sorry."

  The man, forming a silhouette in the light from the hallway, stared back in silence, his wide eyes studying Nat for a long, uncomfortable moment.

  "Is there a problem?" Nat asked as the janitor scuffed his feet on the floor.

  He entered, pulling a cart behind him and never taking his eyes off Nat.

  "Something you want to say—"

  "The trash may be empty, but look closer," the janitor said in a raspy voice. "Look closer."

  His jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

  He paused, his weathered face smoothing. "You heard me."

  "Do I ... do I know you, old man?"

  He shook his head once. "But I know you," he said, hunching over the cart as he turned away. "Look at the trash closer. That's all we can say."

  Nat frowned. "I don't understand—"

  "Hodges!"

  The shout sent his heart racing. He stuck his head into the hallway. Thumux stood with a satchel over his arm, face still damp from the shower.

  "Captain?"

  Thumux's forehead wrinkled. "You all right?"

  "Yes, sir. You scared me, that's all."

  "You finished up in there?"

  "Yes. We're all set for tomorrow. I just didn't want to leave that stuff at home again."

  He cast a thumb behind him. "Wanna head back to quarters?"

  "Sure."

  He glanced back into the offices, but the old man had disappeared.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thoughts of the strange old janitor buzzed around his mind the entire night. Tossing on his bed and twisting the sheets for hours, Nat kept hearing the gravely voice of the elder local. He might have managed two hours of sleep, but even then, he dreamed of the man and his ominous suggestion to check the trash.

  Of course, Nat had rummaged through the trash in his quarters on the base. Feeling stupid, he gave up after realizing all he'd managed to do was smear his hands with coffee grounds and a foul odor. He took a shower and went into the office before the sun had started to rise, wondering if he might be able to catch the old man ending his night shift.

  But there was no one but the Marine guard outside their office. Nat saluted and went inside the dark building, lights flickering to life as he strolled down the corridor.

  Thumux wouldn't be in for at least another hour to begin briefing him on their next series of assignments. He had said they would be flying again tomorrow, so Nat knew today would be the endless series of office work and preparation that seemed to follow him everywhere.

  He entered his office, the old man's voice echoing in his mind, "Look closer."

  Nat sat at his desk and sighed, looking at the flight manuals and scraps of paper. It occurred to him suddenly that the old janitor might have been out of his mind, and he wondered why he hadn't considered that possibility earlier.

  But then he looked at the steel wastebasket underneath the desk. Tipping it forward with his toe, he saw the basket lined with a plastic bag was empty. He sighed, shaking his head and pondering if he was the one who was crazy. Why did he believe the old man and risk an entire night's sleep over it?

  He pulled the basket closer and stared at the bag. Wait a minute, he thought. Using his index finger, he separated the plastic lining and peered underneath. He inhaled sharply.

  Something was there.

  He thrust his hand into the basket and pulled out a silver rectangular card the same color as the basket itself. It had some weight to it like it was constructed from graphite. He twirled it between his fingers, watching as the office lights reflected off the smooth, cold surface. Text appeared and disappeared on the card as the light moved across it. He held the card up to the light, adjusting it deliberately to see if he could get the text to appear again.

  There!

  He held the card still and leaned closer.

  The small rainbow-colored text in swirling cursive comprised two words: Atheron's Pit.

  Collapsing into his seat, Nat stared at the card, dumbstruck. Why would an old janitor place what looked like a hotel key card with odd font emblazoned on the surface inside his wastebasket? What was Atheron's Pit, anyway?

  A shiver rippled down his backside. Could the janitor be with the resistance? What if the rumors of a rebel leader promising an exodus were true?

  "I'm going to let you work up the flight plan for the next trip, and it's a long one," Thumux said, peering at his tablet. "I'm sharing it with you now."

  Nat and Thumux were alone in the briefing room, the rest of the pilots still converging around the coffee station and spreading scuttlebutt about the usual topics: sports, local women, and wars throughout the Empire. He had avoided the usual morning chat, his mind preoccupied by the card he had tucked into his pocket.

  "Where we going tomorrow?" Nat asked, waking his tablet. "Back to Alpha?"

  Thumux grinned and nodded toward the tablet.

  "Oh," Nat said as he raised his eyebrows, "a secret."

  He couldn't help but smile. Captain Thumux was boring and by the book. He never drank, rarely told jokes—well, funny ones, anyway—and seemed by all accounts to be alone in the universe. He hadn't talked of a family or a love life in all the time Nat had served with him. He’d never mentioned any interests other than flying, but he was an excellent instructor, and Nat appreciated him for that.

  So, the fact he was exuding a bit of playful excitement this morning must have meant their next assignment would be interesting.

  Nat tensed as he saw the expected time of arrival at their destination. "Is this for real?"

  "Yep," Thumux said. "We have a top priority delivery for Atheron, and we leave tomorrow. We're bringing fresh water condensers. Fun stuff. I'm leaving the flight plan up to you."

  Nat swallowed. "I can't believe it."

  Thumux tilted his head. "You sound like I've told you to fly to a funeral. I thought you'd be thrilled."

  "I am," he said, fighting back a shudder. "I just thought it'd be a while before I was able to fly off-world."

  "It usually is, but I guess the gods of space flight have smiled upon you, or someone upstairs wants to see if you can hack it." Thumux looked back to his tablet. "We will need to depart early to get there on time. These orders come straight from the top. Looks like they're planning a series of cargo drops on Atheron. We might be doing several of these for the foreseeable future. If that's the case, I'll take the next one."

  "I'm going alone?"

  Thumux laughed. "Not yet. I just meant I'll be sleeping. Brass hasn't authorized Lutimite Drive usage for us since it's only an intersystem trip."

  He frowned, wishing he could have had a chance to use the Lutimite Drive for the first time. "That's too bad."

  "Pretty normal for a world this far out. Lutimite is expensive and shipping it way the hell out here isn't exactly cheap. They save such luxuries for the Interceptors and whatnot. Bottom line is, we're going to be spending a lot of time in the cockpit over the next several days."

  Nat nodded, checking out the landing coordinates on Atheron. He smiled. So, he was finally going to see the colony of Atheron his parents had wanted him to experience before the Zahl arrived. He had seen images, of course, but had heard the Zahl had converted the entire colony into a prison. He didn't care. Just setting foot on another world was enough to make it hard to sit still.

  "I'll get to work on this flight plan right away," he said, adjusting in his seat as he prepared to stand.

  "I want it by lunch so I'll have time to review it," Thumux said. "Oh, and Captain Tox asked to see you today. He's come to the port from the Academy. He's in the officer's break room."

  Nat froze. "Tox? Today?"

  "Yeah."

  A cold sweat dripped down his back. The card suddenly felt heavy in his pants pocket. "Did he say what it's about?"

  "He didn't say, and I didn't ask. Sounded important."


  Nat straightened his uniform. "I'll check with him right away."

  "I want that flight plan sent to me by lunch," Thumux called as Nat left the briefing room.

  "You'll have it," he called back, his mind unable to focus on anything but Tox.

  Nat fiddled with his satchel on the way to Tox's office, sliding the strange card into a tear in the fabric. He knew he hadn't done anything wrong, but something about the odd rectangle now hidden in his satchel bothered him. Was it contraband of some kind? A tracking device? An explosive?

  As he marched through the busy port, Nat realized he could have turned in the card. Tox had asked him to remain vigilant for any sign of a recurrence in active resistance on Yesro Vraun. Even though they might have suspected him of collusion, he could have approached the nearest Marine guard, told him about the janitor, the card—all of it.

  But he hadn't.

  And now he was wondering why he had kept the incident silent. Was it because he worried about anything that could place a black mark on his file and prevent him from entering fighter school? Or was it something deeper ... something he didn't dare whisper aloud in the halls of the Zahlian port.

  Shaking his head, he marched rigidly through the crowded corridors. Pilots and officers mixed with maintenance crews and politicians boarding flights bound for worlds and stations throughout the Empire. He passed vast windows revealing the Mohal skyline with its interconnecting tube system and freighter traffic flying for Alpha Station. The port had once been Greeva's international airport. Kad took him to see an airshow for his birthday when he was young. They had watched with awe and admiration as the Oshua copters performed acrobatic moves and precision formation flying. He remembered wondering what it would be like to fly—even as a passenger—away from this airport.

  And now he was doing it on a regular basis, flying cargo shuttles for the Zahlian Navy.

  The Greeva airport had been completely remodeled since the Zahlian occupation. All signs and artwork depicting the planet's past had been removed. He had never been to the officer's break room, but he knew the place had once been a lounge for celebrities and wealthy executives departing Greeva.

  As he stood in front of it, Nat took a deep breath. He hadn't seen Tox since he began working under Thumux. It had been a few months since they had last spoken about keeping an eye open for any signs of renewed resistance. Surely this meeting request had nothing to do with that, he thought.

  Two officers came through the door, leaving the break room and nodding at him. He felt stupid for standing in the hallway and promptly went inside. The break room was lavishly decorated for a military port. Like most everything else designed by the Zahl Empire, crimson and black adorned the lounge. Polished crystal tables lined the area in front of picture windows overlooking the vast array of ships undergoing maintenance or awaiting their turn to take off. An obsidian bar lined the only solid wall. Three holographic screens hovered over the bartender's head, depicting a range of information from flight schedules to local weather.

  Nat scanned the room and found Tox facing the airfield while sipping a drink. He approached, his mouth dry as his feet scuffed the red carpet. Doubts flooded his mind. He should have left the card at the bottom of the wastebasket. He should have never allowed the old man to burrow into his brain, rob him of sleep and threaten his sanity. As he stared at the back of Tox's closely-cropped hair, he wondered if the man had called him here to question his loyalty.

  "Lieutenant Hodges," Tox said without turning, his eyes still focused on the airfield as a cargo shuttle lifted off a landing pad at the far end. "Please sit."

  Nat joined Tox in front of the window, taking a seat in one of many plush velvet chairs and placing his satchel beside him. They sat in silence as the cargo shuttle swiveled in the air until its nose faced skyward. The pilot took the craft forward, easing more power into the main engines as it moved farther away from the port. In seconds, the shuttle was nothing more than a glint of sunshine.

  "I never tire of it," Tox said, holding the glass close to his lips as he watched the departing shuttle, his scarred face wrinkling as he squinted. "The wonders of flight."

  "I agree."

  "I know you do." He turned his chair to face Nat and placed his glass on the crystal round table between them. "Drink?"

  "Thank you, no," Nat said, forcing a smile. "I'm flying tomorrow and would rather not dull my senses."

  Tox appeared to consider this statement and then smiled. "It's your upcoming flight that I'd like to talk with you about, but first, tell me of your new assignments. I have seen you've logged eighty hours of flight time thus far. You'll have the full wings before you know it. What do you think of the job?"

  Nat complied with the pleasantries, telling Tox of the mundane aspects of a cargo pilot's existence as if it was a grand tale of intrigue and excitement. He gave Thumux most of the credit, trying to deflect any attention from himself as he searched for the true meaning of the meeting.

  Tox gave him a rundown of the new class of native cadets, saying they showed promise after the first round of cuts. Some of the troublemakers drafted into the service who had excelled on the aptitude tests had been sent to the relocation camps and now the second class of Yesro Vraun had the potential to be as good as the first. Even as they spoke, he knew Tox hadn't called him here just to catch up on old times.

  "So," Tox said, the pleasant expression fading from his face as his eyes narrowed, "you're flying to Atheron."

  Nat noticed it wasn't a question, so he merely nodded.

  "You remember our last discussion?"

  "I do, sir."

  "It's the reason you were given the assignment."

  Nat frowned. "Sir?"

  Tox stared out the window. "The worst-kept secret on this planet is that the resistance has been quietly planning some kind of renewed operation. We don't know what it is. Some of our agents have questioned natives about the existence of a cell or leader promising freedom in an exodus or some nonsense. The mythos of this leader is certainly true as several interrogations have indicated. Whether or not the rebel leader's existence is real remains to be seen."

  "I see," he said, although he still didn't understand why Tox wanted him here to discuss the current situation on Yesro Vraun.

  "Have you been contacted?"

  Nat blinked. "Sir?"

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the chair's arms. "Has the resistance contacted you in any way?"

  Heart thudding against his breastbone, Nat felt as if the card buried in his satchel was announcing its location.

  "No, sir," he said, his voice wavering. He cleared his throat, trying to pretend he had allergies. "I have not."

  Tox paused, studying him as if he were on an examining table. "I'll cut to the chase here, Lieutenant," he said, his tone shifting to something more official. "Governor Compa is growing impatient with our efforts at locating the resistance and has called for all officers to join in the effort to root out any conspirators. I wish Radman were still here, but he's been called away."

  "I thought the resistance had been crushed. Commander Radman even said—"

  "The resistance may be quiet, but Compa doesn't believe such a determined effort would simply vanish without a fuss. I tend to agree with him, and I think you can help with this effort."

  Nat wet his lips and looked at his hands. "Why me, sir?"

  "Because your family has been involved with the local resistance in the past," he said without delay. "And you were once held captive by a rebel cell and allowed to live when your comrade was not. That means someone in the resistance trusts you. Otherwise, you'd be dead. Either that, or you've been lying through your teeth and will eventually be caught and tried for being a traitor."

  Nat winced. The night Cal was executed visited him in his dreams more often than he would like to admit. Hearing Tox say it aloud made him flinch at the thought.

  "I'm not a traitor," he said. "You know that."

  "There has been
a great deal of recent activity on Atheron that leads us to believe the resistance has shifted its goals or base of operations," Tox continued as Nat had said nothing. "We know from the silence the situation has changed, but we don't know how. Something’s going on there, and I want you to find out what it is. Can you do that? I know it might be difficult as you may know the rebels you encounter. Are you prepared to do what it takes?"

  Nat nodded. "I am. What do you want me to do?"

  "Stay vigilant and be open to contact by the resistance. If they approach you, find out as much as you can and report back to me. If you're successful and provide information to lead to the destruction of the resistance, the review boards will definitely take another look at your interest in flying Interceptors."

  Nat hesitated, biting down on his bottom lip.

  "I know what you're thinking, Lieutenant," Tox said in a warm voice as he grinned. "I only want peace and order here. I want to avoid any further bloodshed. I'm sure you're worried that your loved ones may get caught up into this and I promise that won't happen. If you are able to help make a difference and bring order to Yesro Vraun, I promise no harm will come to your people. I just want this done. I know you do, too. The Empire rewards loyal subjects like you."

  He smiled. "I'll do whatever it takes, Captain."

  "I know you will."

  Chapter Eighteen

  It had been almost mythical in Nat's mind until he saw Atheron on the sensor. When it was visible, it hung like a green marble on an invisible string: pristine and solitary. It felt like he viewed the genesis of all the dreams he’d had as a child. He could still remember his father tucking him in at night a long time ago. Clasping his hand, Da had said he could do anything he put his mind to, all it took was hard work and determination. So, Nat told him he wanted to fly away from here, see the stars and visit Atheron. He had seen the commercials boasting of the new world open for colonization and adventure, and he wanted to go. Da responded by saying anything was possible.