Alien Apocalypse: The Complete Series (Parts I-IV)

by JC Andrijeski

  Human, he was on the small-side. Dirty uniform pants clung to his legs, like the kind they used to wear back at the pits. His boots had holes that looked familiar, and the coarse shirt he wore had turned gray from countless washings, although it must have been a different color once. His back was to her, his nearly-black hair cinched by what looked like a cloth gag.

  He was muscular. Wiry. Malnourished.

  His skin looked grayish, like the shirt he wore and the powder on his leather boots.

  That was familiar, too.

  Jet had that same gray cast to her own skin before she moved to the Green Zone and started eating the greenhouse-grown food of the Nirreth. He could have been one of the boys she grew up with, from his clothing and build. They all took on the same feral look after awhile, eating the poisoned food of the pits and living underground.

  Jet swallowed. She stared at him for a split second more before her eyes darted around the rest of the room, taking in its plain lines. Made entirely of wood, the room had none of the elegance of the hall downstairs. Crude, almost cabin-like, it had a single, four-paned window with a wooden sash and no furniture apart from the human-like chair to which the man had been tied. It looked like a room in Mishio’s old cabin.

  In fact, it looked exactly like it.

  Enough to briefly stop Jet’s breath once she realized how well she knew it.

  Forcing herself to move, to remember the muddy footprints she’d tracked through the hall downstairs, she approached the man on the chair. Even as she did, something in those hunched shoulders nagged at her. Something about his build, the way he sat there, even the cowlick on the back of his head, sending his hair in a weird spiral. It occurred to her that he was younger than she’d first thought, too, more of a boy than a man, really, despite his height.

  Edging around where he’d been bound, Jet gripped the gun tighter, still holding it out in front of her. Her eyes continued to dart around the room, taking in the unadorned walls.

  She saw no one. She also saw no evidence that anyone else had been in here recently, watching him, despite the fact that he was obviously a prisoner.

  He had to be the objective to the run.

  He had to be.

  Jet fought puzzlement, and a growing unease.

  Shifting her weight sideways, she bit her lip, moving further to the right and forward, so that she could see the face of the man bound there.

  Once his features came into view, Jet froze, staring, the gun still held out in front of her. Her breath stopped in her chest, even as her eyes locked on his, unable to look away.

  It was her brother, Biggs.

  THE RINGMASTER

  Slamming the door leading into the locker room, Jet shoved off the two attendants who immediately approached to help her take off the sense-suit. She barely slowed her pace as she began walking up the ramp, feeling her teeth clench hard enough to hurt when she saw Richter’s broad smile, his arms held out in mocking triumph.

  “You pulled it off, pet!” he grinned. “I must say, I’m impressed!”

  “Get the hell out of my way, Richter.”

  She spat the words as she stalked up the ramp, not slowing her pace at all as she moved to walk around him on the incline. Richter, seeming to see something in her face, took a step to his left to get in her way, but Jet barely hesitated, shoving him aside with her hurt hand without bothering to meet his gaze.

  “Hey!” he called after her. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  Jet didn’t bother to answer.

  Richter jogged to catch up with her. When he got alongside her once more, he reached for her arm, but she jerked it violently away.

  “Calm down, kitten...” he said, his voice huffing a bit that time. “Jesus. Think about what you’re doing for a minute...”

  He tried to grab her again. That time, Jet reached back behind her, gripping the hilt of Black and giving Richter a hard, meaningful stare without slowing her steps. After the barest hesitation, he lowered his arm, frowning while continuing to pace her.

  “You can’t go in there, pet. You can’t. He’s the lead Rings Operator, for Christ’s sake...”

  Jet barely heard him.

  Making her way up the last segment of ramp, she shoved open the double doors without slowing, barely feeling the pain in either her hand or leg as she entered the brightly-lit corridor. She aimed her feet for the slope up to the control room, ignoring the gasp from a well-dressed Nirreth who flattened her back to the corridor wall as Jet walked by.

  “She’s quite the savage, isn’t she?” her male companion murmured appreciatively in Nargili, swishing his tail as he watched her pass.

  The female let out a trilling laugh, but Jet was already rounding the next corner. She barely looked at the Nirreth sitting on a chair outside the control room door. Walking directly to the panel, she hit in the sequence to open it, even as he leapt to his feet.

  “Hey!” he said. “What are you doing?”

  Jet ignored that, too, walking through the opening before the doors managed to disappear into the walls on either side. She ignored the blank-eyed stares of the Nirreth sitting at terminals located at discrete points around the room, oblivious to how she must look, covered in blood and wearing a ripped up sense-suit, her hair a tangled mass around her head. Her entire focus centered on the large male Nirreth bent over a glowing, round table in the middle of the otherwise white-washed space, speaking quietly to one of the lead pullers.

  “Just what the hell do you think you’re playing at, Trazen?” she snarled.

  The room fell utterly silent.

  Trazen looked up.

  Jet saw his dark eyes widen perceptibly, taking in her appearance in stunned disbelief. Angry to the point of unreason at the bewilderment she saw in his stare, she reached behind her head again, unsheathing her sword in one, fluid motion.

  That got their attention.

  The Nirreth at the terminals, the majority being more techie-types than fighters, rose and backed away from her and the shining blade almost to a one. Most of them let out dismayed hisses and clicks as they gave both her and Black as much space as the room allowed.

  Only Trazen didn’t move.

  His tail flicked in a hard arc, but otherwise, he didn’t seem to react, staring at her with a subtle but increasing sharpness in his eyes.

  Behind her, Jet heard a stampede of Nirreth feet. She half-braced herself to be shot, but even as the thought crossed her mind, Trazen raised a three-fingered hand, motioning sharply at whoever stood there.

  “No!” he said in Nargili. “No...do not harm her!”

  “Sir! We apologize, we have no idea how she got past––”

  “Silence!” Trazen said.

  He flicked his tail hard sideways, then in another aggressive arc. He looked around at the room, his dark eyes opaque, impossible to read.

  After a bare pause, he seemed to make up his mind.

  Gesturing sharply towards the crew of pullers, he raised his voice.

  “Out!” he said. “All of you, out!”

  Jet stood there, biting her lip to remain silent, still so filled with rage she could barely see straight, her limbs trembling with adrenaline and emotion. She stood there, fighting to control herself as the Nirreth began to comply with Trazen’s command. She barely spared them a glance as they filed out of the room around her, muttering amongst themselves and staying as far away from the range of her sword as they could.

  “Sir,” a guard said behind her. “Are you sure you should be alone with––”

  “Shut the door,” Trazen said.

  “Sir, I do not think––”

  “Your job isn’t to think. It is to obey,” Trazen said coldly. “Shut the door. Now.”

  Jet felt her jaw harden more.

  She didn’t move though; she was too angry to be afraid of him this time. She felt the guard behind her hesitate. Laksri’s banning of Trazen from contact with Jet hadn’t exactly been a private affair. They all knew wha
t had happened. They also knew Trazen wasn’t supposed to be alone with Jet, but maybe Trazen was betting that his own guard would be more loyal to him than they would be to the First Son.

  As it turned out, he was right.

  “Yes, sir,” the guard said emotionlessly. “We will be outside, if you need us.”

  “I won’t,” Trazen said, giving Jet a laden stare.

  Jet heard the door.

  Before she could open her mouth, Trazen leapt over the glowing table, darting across the room to close the space between them. He moved swiftly, nearly silently, coming within a few yards of her in seconds. Jet raised Black instinctively, sure he must be planning to attack. She was ready to swing the blade when he stopped dead, holding up a hand while maintaining a healthy distance from the sword.

  Jet stared in disbelief as he put a finger to his lips, pointing around at the space, indicating surveillance.

  Still holding up the sword, Jet watched in bewilderment as he raised a long finger again, that time indicating for her to wait, to give him a minute. She stared as he unwrapped the portable monitor from where it cinched his wrist, unfolding it in seconds and frantically marking something on its surface with his fingers.

  He held it up to her a few seconds later and she blinked at it, stunned into silence by the writing she saw on the front, in strangely neat English.

  Sound only. They have no visual, it read.

  Jet stared at the words, then at him, still holding the sword over her head.

  She didn’t move as wrote something else on the glowing screen. She felt her brow wrinkle, her fingers tighten painfully on the sword’s hilt as she stood there, waiting.

  He held up the screen again.

  They have him in custody. One of the outposts...near your old district. Unharmed so far.

  He bent over, scribbling again.

  ...Your uncle, too. Draven. And his wife, Sarah. Mishio.

  Jet felt a cold pain start somewhere in the region of her navel.

  You can’t trust him, Trazen showed her next. Richter. He won’t tolerate the prince going against him for long...you must know that. He already sees you as a threat...

  He was bending over the screen again, when Jet heard the door open behind her.

  “Jet!” a familiar voice growled, colder than she’d ever heard it. “Jet! Stop this. Now.”

  Jet just stood there, fighting to breathe, to think, still staring at Trazen, feeling her mind whirl as his expression slid back into that smug, predatory look she more easily recognized. His monitor had magicked itself back around his dark wrist. His oddly-sharp face held nothing of the urgency she’d seen in it only seconds before.

  Conversely, he winked at her in the pause, coiling his tail in a sensual arc behind his back as he stared deliberately at her body.

  The voice behind her grew more threatening, still speaking English.

  “Jet!” it repeated. “Put down the sword! Now!”

  Jet continued to stare at Trazen, lost in the difference she could see in his face, trying to stare past it to what she’d glimpsed in those few seconds.

  “Now, Jet!” the Nirreth behind her hissed. “Put down the sword, or I will be forced to let them subdue you. You won’t enjoy it...”

  That time, Trazen cut him off, giving a dismissive wave of one hand.

  “It is all right, Honorable First Son,” Trazen drawled, giving Jet another of those faint smiles. “No need to ‘subdue’ anyone. I quite like aggressive females, whatever your companion seems to believe. She can attempt to skewer me with her little knife, if she so desires...”

  That time, Jet heard real anger reach Laksri’s voice.

  “Silence, vermin...” His voice dropped to a real threat that time. “You have already broken the law, Ringmaster Trazen. I will deal with you separately in this...”

  Trazen’s smile crept wider. He trained it on Jet, letting his eyes slide down the torn sense-suit. “Of course, Honorable Prince. No need to scold your plaything, however. I don’t mind a little blood. I could only have enjoyed it more, in fact, had she come without clothes...”

  Jet lowered the sword, still staring at Trazen’s face.

  He smiled at her, that predatory glint sharpening in his eyes, unapologetic now, bordering on a leer as he flicked his tail in another sensual arc behind his back.

  She didn’t see so much as a hint of the Nirreth she’d been talking to before.

  “Do I really need to explain this to you?” Jet snapped. “What part of my actions were unclear? Or are you really such a child that you would think that I was flirting with the son of a bitch, by threatening to cut off his head?”

  Laksri’s eyes hardened to smoked glass.

  Richter spoke before he could answer.

  “Jet, calm down...”

  Richter sighed, leaning back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table next to where he lounged, watching a small swarm of attendants work around her. Before Jet could give a sufficient retort, Richter glanced pointedly at the attendant who hovered over her, unlocking the snaps on the black form-fitting sense-suit she wore, or what remained of it.

  The metallic fabric was still pretty much glued to her body with sweat, blood and burns from the hits she’d sustained during her run.

  Jet stared at the blank faces of the Nirreth working over her, but found it difficult to give a damn. Trust Richter to pick now, of all times, to go all secretive again.

  She strongly suspected it didn’t matter what the attendants heard, that Richter was just trying to shut her up. The damned television crews had already broadcast gleeful reports about her barging into the control room to threaten Trazen. They already knew he’d used a virtual rendering of her brother as the “hostage” in the run, too.

  None of them could be all that surprised she’d reacted the way she had. No way could the average Nirreth be stupid enough to think it wouldn’t bother her, to threaten her with her own brother, especially given what Trazen had done to her already.

  Folding her arms, Jet turned to glare once more at Laksri, who stood against the far wall, not looking at either of them. She had to restrain herself from walking up to him, maybe punching him in the face.

  “What do you think, Laks?” she said, her voice brittle. She waited a beat, her mouth hard when he still wouldn’t look at her. “Are you okay with what he did? That he’s threatening my family now, as part of his little tit for tat between the two of you?”

  “We do not know that this is what he is doing, Jet...” Richter began.

  “The hell we don’t!” she snapped furiously. “How could that not be a message!”

  “I did not say it wasn’t a message,” Richter said, his voice colder.

  “So what do you think this ‘message’ is saying?” she said.

  Rather than addressing the question to Richter himself, Jet turned back towards the Nirreth, who still avoided her eyes. She wanted to believe she didn’t care how he answered, but she watched his face minutely, anyway. She couldn’t help seeing the way his eyes slid away from hers, just like a human’s might have done, right before they told a lie.

  Remembering the message Trazen wrote on his monitor, Jet had to bite her tongue to keep from accusing all of them...but something told her that wouldn’t be a good idea, either.

  “So should I do what you do?” she said, looking between them that time. “Act like it’s no big deal? I’m supposed to just not care that lizard-skin sadist knows I have a brother? Knows what Biggs looks like?” As she said the words, Jet felt her throat close. “Does he have him already, Laks? He does, doesn’t he? How else could he possibly know what he looks like?”

  “Jet,” Laksri warned. “You are going too far with this.”

  Her jaw hardened more. Biting back a sudden swell of emotion, she killed it, forcing her voice calm, realizing suddenly that she had nothing with either of them, no leverage at all. She had nothing but what she could persuade them to do.

  She calmed her voice.

&nb
sp; “Fine,” she said. She stared between him and Richter. “Can we check on him, at least? Biggs? See if he’s still in the pits? You have spies there, don’t you?” This last she aimed at Richter. She kept her voice utterly flat. “Just see if he and my mom are all right. I will pay you to do it, if it inconveniences you. I have credits now. From the Rings.”

  Richter gave her an irritated look, making a non-committal gesture with one hand. “Why would he take your brother, Jet? Does that even make sense?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” she said. Shrugging, she kept her voice level with an effort. “You said yourself he likes to play games. That he would use anything he could for leverage.”

  “A human skag would mean nothing to him.”

  She fought to breathe, to keep her heart rate under control, her voice. “Where would he be holding him, if he had him?” she said.

  “Jet!” Laksri warned.

  She turned with an effort, tearing her eyes off Richter to once more look at the tall Nirreth. If Trazen was telling the truth, they were both lying to her right now. If Trazen was lying, then he probably had Biggs himself. The problem was, there was no way to know. Richter might refuse to check on Biggs and her mom just to be an ass. Or he might say he was checking just to get her to drop it. Or he might have Biggs already, in some holding cell in a remote area of what had been central Canada. There was no way to know.

  There was no way to know.

  “We’ll talk about it during your training,” Laksri said, that edge prominent in his voice, even as he let her hear the meaning behind his words. He meant when he could sting her, and she could feel the information through him. “...In the meantime, you are the winner of this match. You must go to the celebratory session.” His jaw tightened, right before he glanced at Richter. “...It is expected.”

  Jet understood the meaning behind that, too.

  Trazen would be there. Even Laksri couldn’t ban the Rings Operator from his own party.

  Richter gave an irritated snort.

  “Lord Almighty, the drama,” he said mockingly. “What the hell are you even complaining about, kitten? You won the match. Hell, you creamed that sucker, despite all the crap they threw at you. That was probably your best run since that first one...the crowd ate it up! If anything, the personal connection between the two of you only made it that much more successful...”