The Ninth: Invasion

by Benjamin Schramm

  “Did the explosion have an energy signature similar to the planet-destroying weapon used by the organics?”

  Fourth’s eyes widened. The ancient skin coiled and looked for an instant like tanned leather as his face tightened.

  “That’s it. That’s what I forgot to tell all of you. I detected that very energy signature. I thought that maybe the organics were making that weapon again, but instead it was a silly project of theirs that blew up in their faces. I thought you’d all get a laugh out of the whole thing. I’m so sorry I forgot to tell everyone. Please apologize to the rest for me.”

  “It is okay, Fourth. You have done well.”

  “Really, Third? I can’t remember you ever praising me.”

  A wide grin enveloped the old man’s face. His lips seemed devoid of moisture and looked like a sun-parched desert.

  “What’s this about?” Rita asked as Fourth’s image faded away.

  “I am currently investigating the matter. I will inform the Forged as soon as I have something to report.”

  Rita eyed Third suspiciously as her image faded.

  “How did you know about the energy signature?” Third asked after she was completely gone.

  “I don’t know of anything else that would scare a Shard . . . or Forged, or whatever you want me to call all of you.” Brent shrugged.

  “There has only been one recorded use of the organic planet-destroying weapon. There were no survivors on either side.”

  “So, the Commonwealth did leave behind all those troopers.”

  “If the organics succeeded and brought back one of their own from that day, it would still fail to explain your ability to communicate with me as you do.”

  “So, you are saying I’m one of you?”

  “That is impossible. The Forged were constructed long before . . .”

  Third paused. Brent found it oddly disturbing. Third didn’t seem like the kind of being that would end his sentences prematurely. Third rose from the extrusion he had been resting on. For a moment, he saw Third as an ominous creature readying itself for some terrible act. As Third silently moved toward him, Brent felt a strange amalgam of emotions. Third was desperate about something; a sense of supreme urgency filled him. As he edged closer, Brent felt an odd mixture of concern and aversion.

  He couldn’t form rational thoughts as Third came to a stop. The tall black and green form loomed menacingly over him. He forced his body not to shake as one of the huge arms raised. Brent’s momentary fascination with the workings of the green energy joints faded as he saw the three sharp claws move together. With a single swift and brutal motion, Third plunged his “hand” into Brent’s chest. Brent tried to breathe as his chest instantly went numb. Lightheadedness shook him from his composed state. His mind demanded he scream in terror but his lungs and vocal cords were completely gripped by the numbness.

  Forcing his head to look down, Brent’s eyes widened at the sight. The first thing he noticed was there was no blood on the ground. Forcing his mind to focus on Third’s limb, he found that, instead of piercing him like a weapon, the claw seemed to have phased into him. Surrounding the claw was a burning green light. The numbness of his chest was rapidly spreading throughout his body. Brent felt faint as Third held him still.

  “Report,” Vincent said through grit teeth as he fired another volley from the beam turret.

  “What happened to the others?” Doyle asked as he stepped over the haphazardly strewn cables lining the floor.

  “Sleeping,” Vincent said as he realigned for the next shot. “We’re working around the clock. Daler took a bit of shrapnel and can’t see accurately enough to do the job. I had to take his shift.”

  “Have they let up at all?”

  “Since that cursed Citadel imbedded itself in the planet it has launched one assault at us after another.” He fired a volley and started preparing for the next. “I don’t think they’ve taken as much as a five minute breather.”

  “You need to come with me,” Doyle said hesitantly.

  “You can’t be serious. If this turret stops for even a second our artillery is gone.”

  “Then maybe I can help,” a soft voice said.

  Vincent froze as he slowly recognized the voice. Remembering how important his job was he fired off the volley before glancing around the screen. In a wheelchair next to Doyle was Nadia.

  “You made it,” he shouted gratefully.

  Nadia nodded as she smiled weakly at him.

  “She’ll never walk again,” Doyle said hesitantly.

  “Better than being dead,” she added quickly. “Now help me get in there. They need you Vincent.”

  As soon as he fired the next volley he jumped from the controls and helped Doyle lift her into position. He hesitated for a moment before giving her a quick hug.

  “It’s good to see you again, Captain.”

  Vincent saluted proudly. Doyle quickly followed suit.

  “Can’t be a captain without a ship,” she said with a light blush as she calibrated the screen for her height.

  “You’ll always be our captain, ma’am,” Vincent said.

  “I was going to say that,” Doyle said irritably.

  “No fighting you two,” she said distractedly as she lined up a shot and fired a volley.

  “Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.

  Doyle tapped Vincent’s shoulder and nodded toward the entrance. They carefully navigated the wires lining the floor as Nadia fired another volley.

  “What’s so important?” Vincent asked.

  “Gazsi called for you, and anyone awake enough to fight. He thinks there is going to be a massive surge soon.”

  “Any chance he’s wrong?”

  “He hasn’t made a bad call yet,” Doyle said as he wrung his hands. “We barely repelled the last one.”

  “We’ll hold,” Vincent said confidently. “We have too.”

  The two raced through the city to join Gazsi in the northwest. The streets had been kept clear for the flow of the defenders, but every other inch of land had been converted to support their efforts. The once lush lawns had long since been trampled by heavy equipment or covered by hastily assembled structures. Vincent shot an enviously glance at the large tents which housed the bunks filled with Navy personnel, troopers, and any citizens that had volunteered. It was obvious they weren’t enjoying pleasant dreams, but at least they were resting. Doyle veered to the right and ran into a meal tent. The anxious anticipation of returning to the front covered the tent in a somber silence.

  “Gather your gear and head out,” Doyle called out. “We’re needed on the northwest front.”

  The hardened troopers of the military instantly jumped to their feet and marched out. The Navy personnel hesitated for a moment, but they too got up quickly and headed out. The civilians looked around nervously, their courage wavering. Once a few stood, the others reluctantly followed suit. Vincent couldn’t blame the civilians. They hadn’t trained for this. A month ago their only task in life was to do their day job and maybe be a good parent. Now they had a rifle in their hands and a merciless enemy that never tired, bearing down on them at all hours.

  Doyle patted the side of a transport to get his attention. As Vincent jumped into the transport, the sitting troopers saluted. He saluted back and focused on the coming battle. In a way he was like the civilians. A month ago he was just a lowly ensign on his first patrol. The only things he had to worry about were following the rules and quoting regulations. It was the duty of the Navy to do more than just oppose pirates. It was their job to safeguard the civilians of the Commonwealth from any foe.

  Vincent’s mouth twisted as he thought about those loathsome pirates. They had hid when the ITU had declared war. They had hid when the Shard came back. They were nothing but cowards. He had no doubt that if they survived this war, only then would the pirates come out of hiding – to steal, kill and destroy whatever was left. As the transport neared the front Vincent made a silent vow that he’d devote
the rest of his life to bringing those cowards to justice if he survived the day.

  A foul odor wafted past them as the transport came to a stop. The troopers quickly got off the transport and took their positions, reinforcing the line. They didn’t even seem to notice the smell. Vincent was unable to get used to the horrible smell of decay. Ever since the dreaded Citadel had imbedded itself in the world they had been under constant attack. Day and night the tripods rushed them without pause. There was no time for proper burials.

  The bladed tripods were always just a few pace away. If a single section hesitated for a moment, the entire line would fall. There had only been one small respite fifteen days ago, when a CI super freighter pelted the Citadel. It had slowed the advance of the tripods, but even it couldn’t stop them completely. The rest hadn’t been long as only a few hours later another Citadel chased off their temporary guardian.

  “Glad you could join us, Navy boy,” Gazsi shouted as he fired his rifle rapidly at something on the horizon.

  “Would you stop calling us that?” Doyle said irritably as he took a position in the line.

  “Just because you got lucky and took down one of these things doesn’t make you one of us,” Gazsi said, focusing on the approaching enemy. “You’ve still got some growing up to do, Navy boy.”

  “What’s the situation?” Vincent asked.

  “They’ve kept up the pressure, but it isn’t as rough as it should be. They are holding back some of their numbers for another surge. It’s going to be a bad one.”

  Vincent took his word as fact and took his position on the line. The sight stunned him momentarily. As far as the eye could see where dead black metallic hulks. Uncountable hordes of dead tripods lined the horizon, giving the ground a black craggy appearance. Thousands of the black forms raced toward them, their blades sending massive sparks flying as they sliced through the corpses of their fallen.

  For hours they held the line, taking down the advancing tripods. The sun set as the destruction continued unabated. Vincent hoped that Gazsi was wrong for once, but knew better than to give into false hope. Memories of the day receded as they fought deep into the night. Gradually the number of advancing tripods started to thin out. The line fell silent as the last tripod fell. Vincent scanned the horizon through the night-vision scope on his rifle. For some reason the stillness troubled him more than the continuous assault had.

  “Where are they?” Doyle asked.

  “Shut it, Navy boy,” Gazsi shouted angrily. “Eyes on the horizon. They’ll be coming soon.”

  A symphony of gasps filled the line. Vincent had only turned to look at Doyle for a moment, but when he returned his focus on the horizon, his heart skipped a beat. In the pitch back of night, an endless line of green orbs of light lined the horizon. Their numbers were unfathomable. For a moment the two lines remained perfectly still as both sides studied the other. In one fluid motion all the tripods rushed the line, releasing a terrifying wail of static as they charged.

  The dark of night was instantly replaced with the strobing lights of the rifle fire as the line unleashed its full might against the advancing wave. Vincent carefully took aim before making every shot. The tripods were hearty things and firing wildly was a waste of time. It took several repeated hits to the same spot to pierce their armor. Slowly the front edge of the advancing wave started to fall. The line pushed back the front edge of the surge but it was obviously not enough.

  The black tripods ripped savagely at the ground as they raced toward their prey. Chunks of soil and hunks of lifeless black metal flew through the air as they eviscerated everything in their path. The troopers held firm, but those without training started to waver. They knew they wouldn’t hold against this surge.

  “Hold the line,” Gazsi bellowed as he stood. “Send these monsters back to the pit they crawled out from.”

  The other troopers stood and their rate of firing increased. A few brilliant explosions of light and fire erupted in the advancing tripods. The troopers had switched to rockets and heavy ordinance. The others cheered victoriously but Vincent knew it wasn’t a good sign. The troopers were tossing everything they had at the advance now. They knew the line wouldn’t hold too.

  As the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, Vincent realized they had fought all through the night. The tiny shred of hope he still clung to was instantly ripped from him as the weak light of dawn illuminated the horde. In the darkness, the number of tripods had been impossible to gauge, but now the staggering numbers were plain for all to see. Their numbers were so thick they covered the land in an undulating sea of black metal. Artillery fire and rockets created small gaps that were almost instantly refilled. The civilians panicked. The troopers tried to keep the pressure on, but the line wavered and the tripods surged.

  “For the Commonwealth!” Gazsi bellowed as he dropped his rifle and charged the surge.

  Vincent could only stare as the man raced toward the ancient foe. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a long dagger. With the augmented strength of his combat armor, he leapt high into the air and landed on an isolated tripod ahead of the pack. With all his might he plunged his dagger into the tripod’s central mass. The tip of the dagger snapped off, but the body of the blade broke through the weakened armor. The tripod thrashed for a moment before it went limp.

  The other troopers roared their battle cry as they too rushed the approaching line. Vincent tried to call out to Gazsi but his voice was drowned out by the battle cry. Gazsi noticed the closing tripod too late and failed to avoid its attack. Without any effort the tripod sunk its massive blade through his combat armor and into his right leg. Gazsi wailed in pain as he thrust with the remains of his dagger. The remains of the blade completely shattered against the tripod’s thick armor. The tripod raised its other blade and swung down on the pinned trooper.

  Just as the blade touched his face, the thing froze. Everyone stared in astonishment as all the tripods froze. The one that had impaled Gazsi freed itself from him and seemed to stand at attention. All of the other tripods followed suit. Gazsi’s wailing was the only sound on the battlefield. In one perfectly uniform motion they all turned.

  “Get him to a medic,” Vincent yelled. “Reform the line!”

  As the others jumped to his orders, he could only stare at the waiting tripods. They weren’t facing the city, nor directly away from it in retreat. They all were facing somewhere off to the right. He followed their uniform stare off toward the distance. He realized that each and every one of them was staring toward the Citadel in the distance. He couldn’t suppress a gasp as he realized the massive black spire was glowing brilliantly with unnatural light. The others slowly joined Vincent in staring at the radiant light in the distance. On the planet Trica all eyes, human and Shard, turned toward the Citadel.

  Just as suddenly as Third had impaled him, he withdrew his arm. He gasped for air as he backed away from the massive thing. His hands instantly started checking his chest. Despite the sensation of having the wind knocked out of him, Brent could feel no hole or gap in his chest.

  “What was that about?” he asked, not bothering to ask through the tripod.

  Third didn’t seem to cringe at his voice like he had done before. The massive form seemed to stumble away. Brent was overwhelmed by the surprise Third was feeling. While Third returned to his “throne” Brent struggled to recover from whatever it was Third had just done. To his surprise when the numbness faded there was no pain. Before he could ask again, eight images started to form.

  The floating portraits were filled with creatures so odd that Brent wasn’t sure an intoxicated dreamscape could ever reproduce them. The first had a roughly human appearance but was comprised of large square metal plates. It looked like someone had tried to recreate the human form with cubes. The second was a sleek malnourished man with an odd silver tint to his skin and not a single hair on his smooth, reflective head. Brent recognized the next three as Third, Fourth and Rita.

  The sixth face, i
f you could call it that, was a large metal machine with no apparent connection to the human form. It was a combination of smooth and angular surfaces arranged in no obvious logic Brent could figure out. The seventh screen was simply a glowing sphere of gently pulsing light. He couldn’t see any physical connections to the apparently floating orb. It vaguely resembled Third’s central sphere but seemed more blurry and less defined. To Brent’s surprise, the eighth screen was of a little girl, maybe nine or ten years old. She seemed completely out of place with the other oddities. As he studied her carefully, he could find absolutely nothing out of the ordinary with her. The only strange thing about her was the company she kept.

  “What do you want?” the second figure asked.

  “I have discovered a vital fragment of information you must all be made aware of,” Third said.

  “What could be so important that it requires direct communication?” the girl asked with a surprising amount of authority in her young voice.

  “Nothing could be that important if you ask me,” the glowing sphere muttered.

  “Be quiet, Seventh,” the machinelike sixth image reprimanded the glowing sphere. “We already know your disdain, no need to remind us every few moments.”

  “Does this have something to do with what we talked about earlier?” the ancient man asked.

  “What data do you have to present?” the first image asked in a crude sounding voice.

  “I have made an alarming discovery,” Third said.

  Another image started to form, increasing the number to nine. Brent jumped back when he saw his own face on the final screen.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Second demanded.

  “You soil my presence with an organic?” Seventh said in utter disgust.

  “You . . .” Eighth said in her young voice.

  “You know this . . . thing, Eighth?” Second pressed.

  “He was the presence I felt when I was sent to rescue Fifth. I disabled his ship, but I did not find him on it. I had presumed he had expired.”