Nemesis: Book Five

by David Beers

  Still, the strands continued on, understanding perhaps intuitively that they had to make this crossing if they were to cover this entire planet.

  No path lit their way, only a beacon, one of the auras that coalesced in front of their mother and then spread to the far reaches of the world. They wanted to reach that beacon, to grow across the aura and then continue to the next beacon, and the next.

  Because the auras had spread far, and the strands could feel them. They understood that eventually they would make their way out of this cold water, and find dry land again, because auras arrived on other land masses, too. Their job was to find them, every aura that their mother sent out into the world, and to grow over them just as they had much of the ocean's floor.

  Grueling work, no doubt, but despair wasn't an option. Hope rested on the other side of this ocean, hope and peace—because the strands were going to grow across the whole globe.

  Just keep following the auras, was, more or less, the collective thought.

  9

  After Bynimian's Destruction

  Form came to Helos. She didn't recognize the form; it looked nothing like the body that she once used, or the aura she was born with.

  She didn't believe it, even as it happened.

  The white wisps making up the sphere around her broke off, looking like small chips of paint fluttering down from the dark sky. They didn't fall randomly, though, but moved as if a wind carried them, heading straight to Helos.

  The pieces fell slowly, and Helos watched as they came. At first she didn't understand, had no concept of what was happening or what she saw. What could she do though? Run from them?

  And so she watched as they floated down, and when the first one touched her, it stopped fluttering and stuck to her. Others followed, all of them landing on her and sticking just as the first had. It didn't take long for her to understand, as more pieces of falling paper created her body.

  Arms. Legs. She even saw them creating her face, her cheeks, her nose.

  The last piece floated down, finding the only spot of black still on her, a tiny mark on her foot, where it fit perfectly.

  Helos stretched her arms out and looked at them both, her glance moving from side to side.

  Her aura was once a bright yellow.

  And now, the body before her began releasing its own aura; a white, almost ephemeral force sprouted from all parts of her body, stretching out into the blackness surrounding her. The white and black hues above continued their movement, looking no worse off since giving away pieces of themselves. Helos watched as her aura spread further and further, feeling somewhat scared but unable to stop the aura from moving. She didn't want to anger the gods, The Makers, and this act of flaunting her aura was unthinkable. Yet she had no control over it, and as it searched upward, it sent back what it found—just as her aura had on Bynimian.

  These were The Makers.

  This their home.

  She couldn't see any of this with her own eyes, but now she understood. If Helos had any doubt before, the white smoke rising from her body dashed it to bits.

  She felt their raw strength, their infiniteness.

  Forever, that's what these creatures were. Timeless in a way no Bynum could ever know. Whatever her daughter was doing, and whatever she would do, all of it was less than insignificant in front of these beings.

  This aura wasn't hers, not fully, but theirs, and that's why she couldn't control it. They commanded it to rise and so it did. They wanted her to see, fully, what they were, so that she understood she couldn't deny what they asked of her.

  The aura filled the black circle, looking as endless as everything else she had seen in this place. It hung in the air for a few seconds, and then retreated, moving back to Helos' body.

  Helos, still looking up, watched as the white glow faded away, slowly turning black. She didn't want them to leave, didn't want to be separated from them—even as she understood the danger that lurked in being so close to beings so great.

  Leave they did though, and she watched, her heart breaking as a deep longing took over.

  And then she was alone except for her new form and aura. Helos stared out into blackness, wondering what, if anything would happen next. She knew what they wanted her to do, yet she only floated in space, unable to move. They wanted her to go to Morena, but how could she? Even with this new body, she simply floated in a universe that should have already killed her.

  It didn't take long for the answer to come.

  Helos moved, slowly at first, heading in a straight line, her body pushed by some force she couldn't see. Her speed grew, rushing faster and faster so that the dots of stars turned into long white lines, endless and blending in with the rest. Helos tried to keep her eyes open, to not miss anything of the space around her.

  The Makers revived her, and now they sent her to her daughter.

  10

  Present Day

  Twenty-five people sat in the room with Knox—all of them Presidents, Monarchs, or the highest ranking Generals that a country could produce. No translators were needed; these people were some of the best educated in the entire world. Most spoke more than two languages, with English being one. Knox, the first of two Generals representing the United States, was woefully outclassed in this room.

  A different class than Marks, even.

  No class had ever been named for that man, no classification at all. Knox always felt on guard around him, understanding that with a few simple thoughts, Marks might decide to end Knox's life. He never felt outclassed though, probably because Marks had to be classified first.

  Why are you thinking about him?

  President Trone spoke at the head of the table, but Knox wasn't paying attention. He looked at Trone, keeping his eyes on the President's, but everything the man said hit a forcefield of Knox's thoughts before they could reach his ears.

  Because you need him.

  No one in this room had mentioned Kenneth Marks. A brief discussion of the President's assassination, but Marks' name wasn't even brought up. Trone moved the conversation forward with a deftness that showed his political skill.

  No one in this room recognized that they might need Marks.

  And Knox was beginning to see what might happen without him.

  He hadn't understood why Marks would kill like he did; it made no sense, and despite Marks' insanity, it didn't really fit with the rest of his actions either. He was always in control, moving with purpose, speaking with purpose.

  So why did he kill Hayley? In that moment, he sentenced himself to death, giving up everything in life. It made no sense when it happened and made no sense now. Yet, Marks did it—the man that knew everything, and he sat locked away in a cage next to a catatonic.

  Light though, in the distance—just on the horizon, was appearing for Knox. Bringing understanding across the darkness of confusion.

  Knox looked around the table at the gathered leaders, all eyes turned toward the new President. Some fat, some thin, not a woman to be seen. They all thought they knew what to do, or at least felt secure that they could win this. Because when had these men not won? They didn't understand the word lose, and that created a sense of invincibility.

  Knox had seen what they were fighting, though. He was the only one in this room who could say that. And so, their confidence didn't extend to him.

  All were agreeing to try the ice warfare, but Knox harbored more and more doubts about it. The area needed to attack was now vastly different than a day or two ago. The force confronting them had changed too—they weren't facing just white plants; the satellites showed more and more creatures leaving their pods.

  Did Marks know this would happen? Did he know that the men around this table, Knox included, wouldn't have a fucking clue how to move forward, but would use what they had in the past without much thought? And if it failed and all those men they sent down there died, would there be any left to send? Or would it be over by that point?

  Even now, listening while peo
ple spoke, Knox moved closer and closer to believing that they needed Marks, and that perhaps the fuck had known they would. Perhaps that's why he killed Hayley, because when they came to him, he would have the power.

  Knox leaned back in his chair, placing his arms on the rests.

  They would attack as night fell and nothing Knox said would change that now. His time to speak had nearly arrived and he would present the plan just as he presented it to Trone.

  But he was going to do something different, too. After the meeting. He wanted to talk to Marks.

  Will felt the creature everywhere when he opened the door. A presence holding such power that he didn't want to move another muscle for fear of alerting it.

  Only, she wasn't here. Not really. The presence was like a gas, filling up the entirety of his mind, but it had no real substance. It felt oppressive, but as he peered out he saw nothing that could actually hurt him. The place was empty and probably had been for a while.

  Except, it wasn't. Not completely, because he still couldn't move his body inside that cage, so while she wasn't actively here, that gas moved through his lungs like thick smoke.

  Will took another step forward, letting go of his hold on the door. He didn't bother closing it, not wanting to make any more noise than necessary. Just because she wasn't here now didn't mean she couldn't show up the second she thought something might not be right. The space before him….

  Did the girl ever see something like this?

  He didn't know if his mind created the images in front of him or if it was the alien, but he saw a control room with a panel containing more buttons and dials than he could count.

  Your mind had to create it; it's too human.

  That felt right. Just as his mind created the room that he sat in for those long hours, it created this too. And, if she were here, she'd be standing in front of those controls, though they might look different from her point of view. She wasn't though, the controls were left completely alone.

  Will moved across the floor, his reflexes as quick in his mind as they had been in reality. He arrived at the panel and stared down at the dials directly in front of him. What the fuck did any of these do? He didn't have a clue what to press or what would happen if he did. No instructions, nothing. Even though his mind created this place, it hadn't taken the time to fucking tell him anything about it.

  He paced across the floor in front of the panel, his eyes glancing from button to button, all of them lit up by white lights beneath. His mind created a goddamn Macintosh.

  He thought about the two scouts down here in the beginning, one dead, and one running—or maybe dead by now. Will hadn't known about anything they did, the technology beyond him. Now, he didn't understand what his mind had done, the technology in here beyond him as well.

  Will chuckled.

  Things change, and yet nothing changes.

  What choice did he have now? What choice was there the whole time? Maybe a long time ago a choice existed, but since then only one path existed for him, and no exits from it. So this was just the next step on that path, and if he died, then fine—he was tired of walking anyway.

  A red button (of course it's red, because it's always red in any movie you've ever seen) sat in the middle of the panel, and Will stopped walking as he came to it.

  Go ahead. Press it. If it brings her down here, then it's over, and if it ejects her, then at least this part is over. Either way, you don't have to sit there and listen to Marks spout his insanity. Press it.

  Will didn't wait, he simply put his finger on the bright red button and pushed down.

  The air, the presence he felt with such force, tightened. It gripped his throat and chest, shot into his mouth and nostrils with the force of a thousand foot waterfall. Will's body tensed, his back arched, and then the presence—the gas—disappeared, or rather, changed. She arrived—the alien, looking at him, at his arms shooting straight down at his side, and his head turning up to the ceiling, like a caricature of a man being abducted by aliens.

  Will felt her thoughts, felt her surprise, and yet understood she couldn't do anything about it. This tightening of the air, even now, was lessening, as his mind somehow rejected her. Threw her out.

  And he knew what she thought, for a brief second: Tell Kenneth Marks I'm not done with him. A coldness permeated each word, a message that spoke of death and pain and indifference.

  The air released and Will started crying, not in his mind, but in the cage.

  Marks said nothing as the tears rolled down Will's face, and Will didn't bother wiping them away. He simply stood up, turned his back to Marks, and pissed out the side of the cage, the urine splashing onto the floor outside.

  It lasted a solid minute, and when he was done zipping up, he leaned his head against the cage, grabbing onto the bars with one hand.

  She was gone.

  He hadn't known captivity before and due to that, he hadn't known freedom either. He simply existed. He knew now, though. His breath came out in heaves, as if making up for the time he hadn't been in control of his lungs. Marks watched from behind, but Will didn't care. Not right now. He just wanted to be thankful for a minute, to revel in this feeling, this immaculate release.

  "Will?" Marks said.

  Will shook his head slightly, not answering Marks, but trying to get the man's voice out of his head.

  Remember this, he thought. Remember what it feels like because you're going to kill Marks before this is done. Kill him for what he's done to you and what he wants to do to everyone else. Remember.

  "She let you go?"

  Will turned around, standing on legs that felt much weaker than he imagined possible. He couldn't stand for long, so he slid his back down the bars of the cage and sat again.

  "Something like that," he said, his hands finally wiping at the tears that fell.

  Marks walked closer to Will. "Why?"

  "Shut the fuck up," Will said, looking up at him.

  Marks smiled. "Sorry about all that. It was necessary. For the greater good, and all. I'm sure you understand."

  Will shook his head. "Yeah? Are you a lot better off for it?"

  "You heard what I told you earlier?"

  Will looked at him, wondering if the man was nervous—if perhaps he now regretted his diatribe. "Yeah, I did, and it's done now. The whole thing."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because I'm telling the next person that comes in here," Will said, already seeing his miss-step, because Marks wouldn't have been so careless to risk everything for a speech.

  Marks looked up at the top of the cage and laughed. "Do you think that will matter? Do you think I told you this with any chance that you could fuck it up? Jesus, Will…." He looked to the ground, his smile fading. "It doesn't matter what you tell them; I killed the President for Christ's sake. When they come to me, they'll have no other options. You'll be able to scream out at them as they walk me away, and no one's going to turn around." His eyes found Will. "Did you think you were free, Will? Is that why you cried? You're not getting out of this cage, ever, but I will."

  Will didn't reply to Marks. The man had thought of everything, but Will didn't care in the slightest. Marks might have a plan that would take him from here to that alien's home planet, and everyone in the world could fall in line, but Will wouldn't. He was going to fuck that plan up, regardless of what Marks said or thought. Marks had his time to play pseudo-god, and he hadn't been able to pull it off. The time was over, even if he didn't know it yet, even if no one in this whole bunker had any idea.

  Let him plan.

  I'll wait and watch.

  And then I'll kill him.

  Knox stopped at the front of the room, this one larger than many of the others he had visited while down here. The cages rested on the other side—one they carried in from outside, and the other they assembled right here, making sure Marks couldn't leave this room.

  Knox looked down the room, seeing something he hadn't expected: Will standing and Marks sitti
ng.

  Knox couldn't remember the last time he saw Will standing, or whatever controlled Will, he meant.

  It doesn't matter. Sit or stand, it's all the same.

  Knox walked across the room, the heels of his shoes echoing off the high ceilings. This place must have been built for tanks or other large weapons; Knox saw no other reason to build something this large beneath the ground.

  "Our friend is back," Marks said as Knox reached the cages.

  Knox didn't respond, but followed Marks' eyes to Will.

  "She let him go, I guess," Marks said. "He's not talking to me very much, to be honest, General Knox."

  "Will?" Knox said.

  "It's me."

  Knox stared at him, and it looked like Will; the slack face holding no emotion had disappeared, replaced by the facial expressions Knox saw when they first met. He sounded like the man Knox met briefly. Will turned so that he faced Knox.

  "It is. I know the position you're in, but she's gone. I … I don't really know. I pushed her out, I think. She wasn't paying attention, and somehow I managed to regain control."

  "I," Knox started but found the words caught in his throat. He hadn't expected this when he walked in; he thought he would come in and talk to Marks, that Will was gone from this world. Yet the person in front of Knox could be Will. "Look, I don’t … I don't even know where to begin with this. You know I can't let you out, not like this."

  "I know. I'm not asking you to, not right now. Just tell the rest of the people down here what you've seen."

  "Enough with the two of you lovebirds," Marks said. "Talk to me, General. What brought you to my humble abode? Or our humble abode, I suppose."

  Knox turned his attention to Marks; he had to—he couldn't let what happened in Will's cage distract him from why he came. Will wasn't dead, wasn't going to die, at least not any sooner than the rest of the world, and so he had to wait.