by Mike Sheriff
SURVIVAL APTITUDE TEST
RISE
Mike Sheriff
THE EXTINCTION ODYSSEY, BOOK 3
Contents
Introduction
1. Sour Harvest
2. In Transit
3. Rumination
4. The Bold and the Merciless
5. Interference
6. Words of Warning
7. Free-Fall
8. The Opening Salvo
9. The Battle of the Northern Border
10. A Second Front
11. The Tide Turns
12. The Enemy Within
13. Aftershocks
14. Triumvirate
15. Remembrance
16. The Battle of the Hollows
17. A Different Path
18. A Broken Deal
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Afterword
Bonus Chapter #1
Bonus Chapter #2
About the Author
Also by Mike Sheriff
Copyright
Survival Aptitude Test: Rise
The epic odyssey continues in Book 3…
After countless perils and heart-wrenching losses, Daoren and Heqet can finally look to a brighter future. They’re expecting the birth of their first child. Daoren’s edicts have outlawed the S.A.T. and restored the rights of the oppressed undercastes. A new food source has eliminated the need for grooll, spawning renewed hope throughout the city-state. Life on the sterile Earth has never been better.
But life 701 years After the Cycle of Extinctions is unpredictable. When the former Unum’s niece invades Daqin Guojin at the head of a mongrel army and a treacherous Asianoid sparks a bloody uprising to restore the S.A.T., Daoren and Heqet find themselves trapped between two unstoppable forces. Can they survive the latest threat to humanity’s future—or will the Cycle of Extinctions finally reach its cruel conclusion?
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1
Sour Harvest
THE HONED BLADE climbed and reached its apex. It hesitated for a split-second, glimmering in the mid-day sun, before slicing the air on its descent toward the target.
Daoren raised his arm and blocked the strike. He grabbed for the dagger’s ceramic handle and instead found the attacker’s wrist. Its glistening skin bore dark pigmentation and—for a fleeting moment—conducted an accelerated heart rate.
The sweaty appendage squirmed loose before he could tighten his grip. Another glinting arc signaled another strike, this one coming from a lower angle.
He side-stepped the blade and snatched the attacker’s billowing sleeve. With one fluid motion, he dug his hip into the Africoid’s ribcage and counter-levered the dagger toward the ground. The boy somersaulted over the pivot-point and thudded onto his back with a jarring oomph.
Daoren crouched and patted the boy’s shoulder. “And that’s how you defend yourself from a determined attacker.” He winked. “Keep one eye on your opponent’s eyes, and the other on his weapon.”
Taan gasped for breath, then choked out a guttural laugh. “I thought I had you with that last strike.”
“I know you did.”
“But how did you know?”
“Your eyes told me.”
Taan absorbed the revelation, still lying on his back. He closed his eyes as if to mute his talkative gaze.
“Well, if it isn’t the great Unum of Daqin Guojin. I thought you were supposed to protect your denizens, not assault them.”
Daoren turned to the lilting—and mildly mocking—voice.
Heqet beamed at him. Cascading micro-studs glittered in her cheeks, their luminance amplified by unfiltered sunlight. Her left hand rested atop a belly that stretched an azure shenyi’s shimmering fabric to its tensile limit. Her right hand waggled a lone sandal. “I believe this belongs to Taan.”
Taan raised his head and gazed at his feet. One of them was bare. “Thank you, Zhenggong.”
“Never mind the formality.” She tossed him the sandal. “Heqet is good enough.”
Daoren grinned. Zhenggong dated back to Mother China’s imperial epoch. The title had been used during the height of the empire before the Cycle of Extinctions had swept its easternmost reaches into oblivion. It translated to Empress and never failed to provoke a shudder from Heqet, except for when he used it during more private—and passionate—moments.
This moment was neither private nor passionate. Two hundred feet beyond the Empress of Daqin Guojin, the Great Northern Border served as a sober backdrop to her maternal radiance.
The border wall—an impenetrable expanse of gray crystalline interrupted every two miles by vaulting archways—blocked most of Daqin Guojin’s skyline. The imposing mass fanned east and west, ranging beyond both horizons to the acidic waters that bracketed the peninsula. Cylindrical watchtowers jutted like sparring staffs from the structure’s upper battlement. Staggered at five-mile intervals, they stood three hundred feet high and were topped by bulbous observation pods.
A shiver crested on his skin despite the pleasant February temperature. After twenty years of forced confinement, venturing beyond the wall’s northern face still felt like a violation. In truth, coming within view of its southern face an hour earlier had also stirred up needling pangs of angst.
As a young prospect, he’d once traveled to Nansilafu Cheng to visit the wall with his father. It was one of the rare childhood memories that featured just the two of them—Mako had been struck ill by an intestinal malady and remained in Meiguo Cheng with Cordelia. During the visit, Lucien had kept Daoren well away from the mammoth fortification. Despite his father’s position in the Cognos Populi, there was no chance of stepping onto the cull zone that lined the wall’s southern approaches to get a closer look.
His clearest memory from the visit was glimpsing the undulating dunes that lay beyond the city-state, limited as the perspective was by the confines of the nearest archway. That narrow window onto the northern desert had nevertheless revealed an utterly foreign world. Until then, he’d known only the cram and sprawl of spectraglass and sculptglass that glutted his district. He recalled wondering what it might feel like to stand upon the distant sand with no towering façades or restrictive archways to impede his view.
Now he knew. As little as eight months ago, standing in this very spot would have been a death sentence to a fourteen-year-old like Taan. The ultra-high-frequency bandnet protecting the northern border was still active—mongrel incursions remained a dire threat, after all—but the sonic nanocharges that once prevented prospects from venturing beyond the city-state’s borders had been deactivated.
Thanks to his edicts, prospects no longer existed as an undercaste, erasing the need for the gruesome inter-cranial implants. The nanocharges remained in place, however; medical practitioners had deemed accidental activations during their removal to be more dangerous than leaving them in situ. For former prospects like him and Heqet—those who’d grown up in the shadow of the former Unum—the devices would serve as a lifelong reminder of mistrust and oppression.
Heqet wandered closer and motioned to Taan, still lying on his back atop a strip of sand between two furrows. “Aren’t you going to help the poor boy to his feet?”
He extended his hand and hauled Taan off the ground. Once upright, the boy’s lanky frame placed him a head higher than Daoren.
Taan shook sand from his brown pienfu and slipped his foot into the loose sandal. “Is it true that you culled
the former Unum in single combat?” he asked, eyes brimming with curiosity.
“I did.” Daoren straightened his purple shenyi and cinched its waist belt tighter. He favored the simple, supple garment over the stiff, regal mianfu worn by every preceding ruler. Not only was it more comfortable, but it also allowed greater freedom of movement. Such freedom had its benefits as demonstrated by his impromptu sparring session with Taan. “But he wasn’t nearly as ferocious as you.”
A good-natured grunt drifted through the air. “The boy gets that attitude—and his height—from his father.”
Daoren shifted his focus to the right.
Aesic crouched between two rows of plush, green foliage. Sweat dappled his cropped scalp, collecting in the wrinkles stitching his brow. The surrounding crop had sprouted through the mix of mulched grooll and sand only a few weeks earlier, he’d informed Daoren and Heqet upon their arrival twenty minutes earlier. The leafy plants now lapped at Aesic’s knees.
It was impossible not to marvel at the new growth. Laoshi had once described vegetation as lush. The old Librarian hadn’t lied, but he’d been silent on how quickly it could take root.
The plants’ broad leaves hung low to the sand, as if afraid to rise any higher. Below them, plump red fruit hung in clusters from thick stems. The connecting point between stem and fruit reminded Daoren of ancient crowns, but the plant’s identity otherwise remained a mystery. Hundreds of Libraria had been tasked with scouring unlocked scrolls, searching for clues that might help identify the assortment of new—and delicious—life forms springing up outside the city-state.
Daoren scanned the crop circle. Evenly spaced rows of plants crisscrossed its half-mile diameter. Narrow-bore lengths of nullglass piping accompanied them, distributing desalinized and neutralized water for irrigation. Dozens more Africoids dotted the circle, tending to the plants and piping. Aesic was responsible for all of them—and for the health of the harvest. Of the scores of varieties so far planted north of the border wall, this particular crop had proven the most successful. “You have as much talent for cultivation as you do for sculpture.”
“The two traits aren’t all that different, Unum.”
“I suppose it’s creation in another form.”
Aesic stood and swiped a hand across his brow. The three fingers next to his thumb were missing—a graphic reminder of the sonic blast that had devastated Zhongguo Cheng’s glass market a year ago. “It’s good work.” He motioned with his undamaged hand to Taan. “And it’s good for him to stay busy.”
Taan kneeled among the plants and used his dagger to trim their fruit into a ceramic basket. The boy’s father—Aesic’s younger brother—had been culled in Feizhou Cheng during the final day of the former Unum’s reign. He and hundreds of others had died trying to wrest control of the southern aerodrome from its Jireni defenders. Aesic had since adopted his nephew, the sole remaining member of his family.
The thought of so many denizens missing the chance to witness Daqin Guojin’s rebirth still weighed on Daoren. The leaden regret had crested months after the final battle at the Center; it had taken that long for squads of Jireni and Libraria to survey every abode in every Cheng and tally the dead. Nearly three-quarters of a million people had lost their lives under the Unum’s cull order and in the subsequent uprising to remove him from power.
Eight months later, the tally was still mortifying. Seven hundred fifty-thousand people out of a population of fifteen million were gone; five percent of the population. Add the forty million mongrels who occupied the nine colonies and it meant fewer than fifty-five million humans remained on the planet. The nascent crops weren’t the only species in need of careful cultivation.
Daoren pushed the thought aside and surveyed the most tangible illustration of Daqin Guojin’s rebirth. Thousands more denizens plied the other crop circles covering the border’s northern approaches—the only territory large enough to accommodate the enterprise. Eastern Caucasoids, Western Caucasoids, Indonoids, Africoids, Hyphenoids—all toiled as a unified collective with a singular aim.
Feeding the city-state.
Heqet draped her arm around his shoulder and scanned with him. After a moment, her brow crimped. “Do you notice anything unusual?”
“Like what?”
“No Asianoids.”
He inspected the surrounding denizens anew. She was right. Every lineage from every Cheng was represented, except for Asianoids. “Maybe there’s a function keeping them away.”
“Maybe . . .”
“You sound unconvinced.”
“Do I?”
“What are you thinking?”
She bit her lip. “It’s nothing. Just a feeling I can’t shake.” She shrugged and reached into her tunic’s pocket. Her hand reappeared with a flexglass bundle. She carefully unwrapped it, revealing a few dozen blue spheroids. “These are from the adjacent crop circle. You have to try them.”
“So that’s where you disappeared to while I was sparring.” Daoren plucked three spheroids from the bundle. He squeezed one between his thumb and forefinger—it was firm yet giving, and a little smaller than his thumbnail. He placed it into his mouth and bit down.
The spheroid burst open, flooding his mouth with a sweet liquid that also smacked of sour—two flavors that had only recently been added to the Guojinian lexicon. His eyes pinched and his lips puckered, but the sensation remained pleasant.
Heqet snorted. “Isn’t it delicious?”
“What are they?” he asked, popping the other two spheroids into his mouth.
“I have no idea, but I can’t stop eating them.”
He lowered his hand and caressed her belly. “That’s because you’re eating for two.”
“Or maybe three.”
He gasped, feigning shock. “Don’t even think it. One child will be more than enough if he’s anything like you.”
She cocked her arm and swatted his chest. It was a gentle strike.
They both deserved a generous dose of gentle considering what had transpired over the past year. Sha willing, they’d get what they deserved. The coming year looked to be one of the best ever. For him. For Heqet and baby Mako. For all of Daqin Guojin. Hope once again thrived among the people.
In the distance, a figure clad in a black bianfu emerged from the nearest archway and paced closer. Daoren recognized the assertive gait within a few strides. “Looks like Commander Cang has news to share.”
Heqet followed his gaze. “About Pyros?”
“I asked her to come find me the moment she heard from him.”
Cang al Aridian had assumed the duties of Primae Jiren in Pyros’ absence. His reconnaissance mission to Havoc was overdue. The three aeroshrikes in his fleet had been out of contact for more than eight hours. Each carried a primary and secondary air-link transceiver, Cang had explained before Daoren ventured beyond the wall to inspect the crops. While unlikely, it was possible to lose both transceivers on a single vessel. The odds of them failing on three aeroshrikes were close to astronomical.
Heqet frowned as Cang drew closer. “It looks like the news is ill.”
He studied Cang’s face, which yielded scant emotion at the best of times. Heqet’s prediction proved accurate when the senior Jiren reached them a few seconds later. A creased brow hinted at concern—unusual for an Asianoid who placed such high regard on reticence.
“Have you heard from Pyros?” Daoren asked.
“Yes, Unum.” Cang’s fretting gaze dropped to a row of plants before finding him again. “Or I should say we’ve decoded an air-burst transmission sent from his aeroshrike.”
“What did it convey?”
Cang’s gaze flicked between Aesic and Taan. “Perhaps we should discuss it in a more private setting.”
Daoren glanced at Heqet. In her eyes, he saw the same feeling he carried in his heart.
Worry.
DAOREN HITCHED HEQET closer to his side as they crossed the cull zone with Commander Cang in the lead. The stark, white plane amplifi
ed the sun’s rays, creating a blinding sheen. He squinted against the noxious glare, hoping to avert a light-induced headache.
The contrast between the wall’s northern and southern approaches couldn’t be more severe. Whereas the fertile crop circles embodied nascent life, the barren cull zone epitomized sudden death . . . or at least the threat of sudden death.
“It’s hard to get used to this crossing,” Heqet said, scanning the dazzling surroundings. “I can’t help but feel vulnerable.”
He shared her unease. The cull zone served a singular purpose. In the unlikely event an incursion breached the wall, the mongrel shocktroops would have to transit five hundred feet of featureless glass to reach the northernmost structures of Nansilafu Cheng. Atop the wall’s battlement, dozens of quad-cannons, triple-barreled thump guns, and thunder mortars trained their sights on every square-mile to prevent that outcome. Under the former Unum, many denizens had suspected the firepower could just as easily be directed at them. Few had dared to set foot on the zone to test the theory.
Their suspicion had withered and died since Daoren’s ascent to the position of Unum. As a result, hundreds of denizens now clogged the expanse. Parents and children milled back and forth without fear of instant death from glass darts or acoustic overpressure. Teens strolled arm-in-arm and hand-in-hand—audacious displays of affection that would have guaranteed detainment in the Rig under the old regime.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” he said. “It looks more like a glass market now.”
The impression was heightened by the myriad food stalls set up among the structures bordering the zone. Scores of vendors displayed samples from the latest harvests, their shelves brimming with red, green, and yellow produce that had been declared safe to consume by the city-state’s medical practitioners. Despite his concern over Pyros’ mission, the colorful sight heartened Daoren.
Most heartening of all, no grooll was being exchanged for the nutritional wares. Over the past two months, five-and-a-half billion pounds of the synthetic food had been secured in long-term storechambers throughout the city-state as a hedge against crop failures. Most of the reserve had come from the Unum’s vaults, but every wealthy family in Daqin Guojin had rendered its contribution. They had little choice; Daoren’s most recent edict had banned the use of grooll in barter transactions.