Joe held up his end of the bargain, and Mezox was better rested by Monday morning as a result, but groggy. His body was less tolerable to old habits. It was tempting to return home and sleep it off. His new house sat almost two-hundred yards from the airbase’s perimeter fence – well away from other local inhabitants.
As an independent student, Mondays were his day of study. Books laid strewn across his work desk. A brief moment of momentum got him to work. Once there, it had drained entirely and leaned his head against the table to rest.
A passing shadow stirred his senses back to life. Professor Jones was at his door; “What’s the occasion?”
The professor dropped a piece of paper in front of him. “We received this yesterday.”
Mezox opened out the half-folded letter, and a dark picture slid out. It was from one of their earlier test-flights. He raised an eyebrow at the professor.
“Read the letter.”
Mezox wiped the blurring tears from his eyes and proceeded to read the document. It read:
“Clear evidence demonstrates that separatists have conspired in the exploitation of a stolen piece of Christian technology. A failure to return it will result in your obliteration.” – signed, Summanus.
Mezox placed the paper back down and leaned back. “How did they get that picture in the first place?”
“That’s the thing. We haven’t a clue.”
“Well someone’s aware of our activities and handing over information.”
Jones took a seat. “We’ve always had that. However, the game would be over if it was one of your lot.”
“I take it you’ve had a meeting about this?”
“Of course.”
“Any verdict on their response?” wondered Mezox.
“Just about everyone voted against any pandering to their demand.”
“Everyone but who?”
“Your uncle,” said Jones.
The surprise of it sent waves of concern coursing his mind. “But he’s had access to my material. He too could have disclosed the details.”
Professor Jones starred in disbelief. “Your Uncle’s hardly a Brainiac. He’s more brawn than brains.”
“I’m no genius and now look at me.”
“Have you spoken to Sallace lately, heard anything unusual or suspicious?”
“I’m a fan of my own work, so when I tell you there’s nothing, you can take it to the bank. And besides, we’ve not spoken in three weeks.”
The professor quietly accepted Mezox’s insights. “I suggest your security perimeter’s widened with further patrols.”
“And what if security has something to do with this?”
“I understand why you’re precautious, but one day, everyone will learn your secrets here. And when they do, you’re going to want more than enough fighters on your side. A lot of players will want that power. I suggest we begin weaponisation and mass production immediately.”
Mezox couldn’t argue, for the professor spoke an unassailable truth. “We still need time. So, if I may add my own suggestion?”
He picked up the photo and presented it back to Jones. “None can tell what’s really in this picture. Say it’s some lanterns or something we set off to commemorate a recently deceased figure.”
The professor stood, ready to depart. “I’ll be sure to forward your idea.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Throne of power
Summanus navigated the halls of Westminster Abbey after receiving an urgent summoning by the Archbishop.
“Why have I received a response from the land of infidels to the letter yet to be sent?” asked the Archbishop.
Summanus dared to stand in front of him and his subordinates. “To seek a speedy resolution to our infestation problem.”
“You distrust my judgement?”
“Anyone else would have wiped that place off the map by now.”
The Archbishop stood and invited Summanus to sit on his throne. “Well, go ahead.”
Eyes focused on Summanus, marring temptation. “My move was merely an attempt to gift you with greater power.”
The Archbishop tutted. “You have so little in faith in me but so much in their ability to come up with such a technology.”
“But this device they wield exists. Their affluence grows daily as you wallow in denial. The evidence lays before your very eyes.”
In scouring an array of photos, the Archbishop was unconvinced. He made a ‘come over’ finger gesture to a guard, who opened a door. Andrews appeared and cautiously neared Summanus. “Did you take these photos?”
“No,” stuttered Andrews. “It was one of your spies – the one in their military. I can’t remember his name.”
“You didn’t witness this event?” asked the Archbishop.
“No, not at all,” he replied.
The Archbishop refocused his attention onto Summanus. “What I think my loyal friend is that our spies may have similar aspirations to yourself.”
“You assume we’re making this up? Then how do you account for what’s on those pictures?”
“In their response to your letter, they explained these lights were nothing more than lanterns to commemorate the death of someone – a little primitive, I know, but that’s the best of their abilities.”
Summanus stomped his right foot. “This is bullshit.”
Everyone gasped with horror. The Archbishop returned to his seat, roll-tapped his fingers against the armrest and ordered, “Everyone leave.”
All religious figures and appointees departed except for a few guards. “I need you to trust my judgement. And as an equal gesture, I will not admonish you here for all to see. In return, you must beg my forgiveness and mercy at tonight’s reformation day banquet.”
Summanus bowed and left for his quarters without a word said.
The vice principle awaited Summanus’s arrival, who ignored him when storming inside. He tipped over his desk with an almighty roar, screaming, “I’ll never yield.”
The vice principle followed behind as Summanus caught his breath. “The Archbishop knows you speak the truth.”
Summanus snubbed the claim. “Really, playing coy to drive me mad?”
With the door closed, he quietly stated, “What if I were to tell you the Archbishop plans to buy their support against the Empire in several years?”
Summanus’s head raised and turned toward the vice principal as though it were heavy. “You what? Infidels and the Alliance united against the Empire. I’d vow that it never happens.”
“Hmm, and that’s exactly why you’re kept in the dark.”
“Why?”
The vice principle retrieved papers from the floor. “Because of your influence over the Church’s supporters, you risk the ruining of said plans.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Wouldn’t the infidels’ power have grown substantially after your long feuds? I mean, wouldn’t they try to take you out the picture altogether?”
“Is that what you also heard?”
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world. The real question is, which one of you two dogs will emerge on top?”
Summanus smirked. “I’m going to need your help.”
“It’s already sorted.”
Summanus appeared twenty minutes late to the banquet. The room featured a series of arches across the ceiling and long walls. Candles burned in their hundreds.
Food crammed a large table and in the process of ingestion. Few noticed his arrival and continued feasting. Those displeased with his recent behaviour raised an eyebrow of suspicion.
At the head of the table sat the Archbishop. Nearby were pig heads on platters surrounded by fruit and other juicy treats.
Summanus took his place without fuss. A meal of cabbage, roast potatoes and beef had cooled somewhat. A slither of warm gravy was added before tucking in.
The Archbishop coughed several times – not enough to cause alarm. A few minutes later and he began to consume frequent refills of
water. Hints of concern spread as sweat dripped from his nose and chin. A food tester sat on the toilet bereft of a pulse.
A violent cough sent an aid slapping his back, but it didn’t help. Convulsions turned erratic as others shared their concern while Summanus casually diced his steak.
The audible aspect of his suffering silenced. Desperate bids for air could not be satiated as panic filled the room. A jolt backwards sent his chair tipping over. The Archbishop was dead before hitting the ground.
Summanus was the only person sat at the table and eating. One bishop blared out the obvious. “He’s dead.”
A cardinal visiting from Rome asked, “Who did he name as his successor?”
The vice principal stepped in. “That will be Summanus.”
All gazed Summanus’s way, who took a napkin and gently dabbed away excess gravy dribble. Tidied up, he walked over and took the Archbishop’s mitre, placed it upon his head and returned to eat dinner.
In utter disbelief, one contested. “This is preposterous.”
A few mutters were silenced from progression when Summanus said, “If anyone contests my predecessor’s wise decision, they will die.”
Back in Hypatia, Summanus’s new seat was all Inaya needed to know. Mezox knew it would spark her departure. Absent from the labs, he searched an empty airfield once dominated by grass.
She sat with her back to the stony patch of land. “Will you ever return?”
“Even if you win this battle, darker days lurk in the shadow of your creation.”
“Then you’ll have been nothing more than a catalyst in our demise.”
“Now you see why we don’t like interfering.”
Mezox stepped in front of her. “And yet you did. Tell me about the virtue of intelligences across the galaxy. Is there a habit of leaving allies at the mercy of monsters?”
She stood and neared. “Your enemies represent nothing more than untamed children.”
“Ah, I see,” replied Mezox. “Killing them would create an ethical conundrum for you. Let me tell you. If they win, you’ll have these little darling tearaways running rampant across the galaxy and raining on your parade. And when they come threatening you, will you yield?”
Inaya placed her hand on his right shoulder and walked behind him. “I hope you’ll understand one day.”
“Or why not demonstrate your capacity to learn for once?” He then turned to find that Inaya had gone. A cloud swirled with a hole punched through it. He shouted, “We’re not the only ones scared of shadows,” at it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Battle of the Pennines
March 2133
Among the graceful slopes of the Pennines hid a dark force. Its appetite for slaughter fed via untainted hatred. They came bearing the cross and a detestation for the freethinker – for whom value secular and democratic principles. For too long had the separatists faced the threat of annihilation. Semi-prepared, they could surrender or fight.
Summanus, who remained within the confines of Westminster Abbey, held an ulterior motive to his people’s understanding – to seise the hypertron. In his hands, it would guarantee his eventual dominion over the planet. From there, all would face forced subjugation to his brand of theocratic autocracy for millennia to come – should humanity survive that long.
Summanus’s army of twelve thousand foot soldiers had one expectation: to face a small army of farmers with pitchforks, or nothing. Their confidence echoed through the surrounding valley as they marched.
Their advance paused just once. At the base of a valley, an upward slope would lead them into enemy territory. Spirits lifted as they absorbed their impending victory.
The infantry’s General felt a cold breeze soothe his damp clothes. He re-opened his eyes and gleamed upon those adjacent to him. With the gun relaxed against his leg, he removed the thick and clammy chest armour before wafting his shirt. Others watched in bewilderment as the General returned a gaze. Some took advantage of the General’s gracious mood and removed their layers. Not everyone felt so sure despite their desire to cool off.
A distant clap of thunder disturbed their laughter. The fog thickened as they gazed upon the ascending slope. A cascade of clunking metal approached from an unseen source.
The noise vanished, but the theocrats maintained a hard focus. As the fog dissipated, that source began to reveal itself. A line of dark figures stood poised on the ridge of the hill like a distant forest.
After a minute of observing one another, the black figures advanced toward the theocrats. Their bold black eyes shimmered with a red tint. Each character held a chest-high shield at their side. None carried a pitchfork.
The General returned his armour. He and his men felt someone wasn’t honest about what they were up against.
The inferior number of secular fighters aided a return to the invader’s confidence. Their chants resumed as the black figures halted and fronted their shields. But still, they hurried the application of bayonets to their rifles.
The general struggled to latch his blade. A hiss of air and the hum of a bee across the distance distracted his concentration. As he raised his head, the knife slipped from his grip. When its tip touched the surface, all had peered back to the hill. A haze of orange light shone through the fog above. One by one, they pierced the mist to unveil a new and uncomfortable truth for the invaders: the secularists possessed an airforce.
Six new generation fighters were in service. Joe was one of its pilots. The other five had received just two and a half months training.
Since Summanus’s inception, Mezox knew the score. It took Summanus time to negotiate the release and use of forces from the Alliance, but the path to war had commenced.
A new fighter emerged from the fires of industry every week. Trustworthy applicants were the rare commodity.
Another team took control of Alex’s laser designs. In combination with the hypertron as a source of power, its output was magnified many hundredfold. Such models weren’t exactly portable. Only fighters could house one for attack and defence purposes. On the ground, they appeared in the form of giant cannons, capable of making a right mess. These arrived last atop of the hill.
Regular soldiers were shrouded in super-strength polyminium. Shields with Hypatia’s insignia, made from the same material, provided extra protection from explosives. Higher bullet momentum positively correlated with the material’s rate of damage. Eventually, the material loses strength and shatters.
Mezox waited anxiously in the command and control centre. There, a team had tapped into the enemy’s transmissions. Amid the static were repeated messages to theocrat commanders, urging discipline. They believed the shields and masks were part of some psychological warfare to evoke fear, nothing else. It worked in ramping up confidence. It grew further with the sound of incoming pulse detonation wave jets.
Orders to scramble hypertron fighters were issued. Joe was aware of their aerial presence and had his squadron gain altitude. Eighteen bombers and thirty-six escorts edged toward Hypatia’s army.
With no time to spare, Hypatian fighters descended upon the enemy formation, striking their bombers first and foremost. Aware of their presence, enemy jets attempted to engage, but couldn’t. H-fighters had vanished, only to reappear from a distance in another run. An aerial battle ensued as Joe had their efforts focus on the bombers.
On the ground, theocratic forces divided into individual units and attack formations. The separatists denied them this by attacking first. A hail of bullets rained upon the theocrats, who scrambled to reply in kind.
Mezox’s finger-biting gave way to reserved excitement. Joe’s squadron had decimated over half the enemy’s airforce with no surviving bombers. One H-fighter was damaged in the confusion but made it safely back to Hypatia. Through a baptism of fire could it be declared that their fighters held a significant advantage.
Most enemy pilots began to retreat, but Joe had a big appetite for revenge. He gave chase to one difficult customer, who swerved
at high G-forces to avoid a direct hit.
Clearer airspace gave the command a better focus on the ultra-high-frequency transmissions from individual jets. When locked, it proved that Joe wasn’t chasing a man, but a woman. Only one woman dared to stir controversy among ultra-conservatives by joining the airforce - initially as a supposed man.
Mezox had once known her. He interfered with an operator’s radio equipment in an attempt to have Joe disengage. Said operator wasn’t too pleased and slapped away his hand. An attempt to explain the situation proved futile as Joe soon sheared her wing. Hyperventilation and fear climaxed to a whooshing sound in her cockpit. When Mezox thought it was over, Joe confirmed that she’d ejected.
Mezox made a mad dash for a functional prototype fighter. He struggled to apply a suit. Yet, when accomplished, another was thrown into the co-pilot seat. In the air, he went in search of her landing site.
Walking tanks fell to the ground as others retreated back up the slope. All theocrat units advanced, walking over and between the fallen. Near the ridge, foghorns blasted across the valley. At that moment, the presumed fallen had risen again, interspersed with the theocrats. As magazines ran out of bullets, blades emerged to continue the carnage. Hypatian reserves appeared either side of the battle, hemming in their foes. For another twenty minutes did they change the slope’s colour.
Over a mile away, Mezox discovered a parachute and ejection seat. On her right side, she was motionless. The sound of his footsteps encouraged a lifting of heavy eyelids. They gazed wide and with horror upon seeing Mezox. Before he could remove his unsettling helmet, she passed out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Paradigm shift
Infidel's Corner Page 16