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

by JC Andrijeski

  Bukka fell forward into the snow.

  Jet didn’t bother to check to make sure she was dead.

  She slammed the sword into the woman’s back, right where her heart should have been.

  Then, without a single thought, she ran for the wooden chairs.

  She almost couldn’t make herself look at her brother, at the blank stare he aimed at the ground below his feet. His body was already cold. Snow had begun collecting in his dark hair and on his feet and legs. Jet saw it melting more slowly on his chest and abdomen, on what remained of his stomach where the blood had started to coagulate.

  She couldn’t look at him for long though.

  She didn’t look at the bloody mess by his feet at all.

  She knelt by her mother instead, looking up at her face.

  Her mother’s eyes were dead, doll-like, but her skin was less gray than that of Biggs.

  “Mom?” Jet choked out the word, reaching tentatively for the side of her mother’s head that wasn’t burned. She stroked back the curtain of straight black hair that still framed that side of her face. “Mom? Mom! Are you there? Mom!”

  Her mother didn’t answer. Her eyes remained open, staring.

  They looked through Jet, past her, unable to see her.

  Unable to continue to look at that blank face, Jet closed her eyes. When she opened them again, choking on tears, choking on nausea, she found herself looking over the chair itself, some part of her still wanting to get them free. Seeing the strange, slit-like locks at the bottom of the iron clasp by her mother’s nearest ankle, Jet let out another choked cry.

  Still, some part of her needed to confirm it.

  She needed to confirm just how wrong she’d been.

  How wrong Trazen had been.

  She pulled off her gloves, her bare fingers shaking and fumbling for the pouch that sat on the top of her shoulder. It took her a few seconds but she pulled the flat piece of metal free. Still kneeling by the wooden chair that held her mother, Jet let out a sob as she fit the piece of metal into the lock and turned it sideways.

  It made an audible click.

  Then, the iron band around her mother’s ankle fell open.

  Sometime after that, Jet must have blacked out.

  THE PRINCE

  “Jet? Jet? Jet!”

  The voice seemed to come from underwater, so far away she could barely hear it.

  Pain lived there. Something so far away she couldn’t feel it, but just the memory of it made her want to run away. Warm fingers caressed her skin, smoothing the hair back from her face. She felt fingers gripping one of her hands, even as that other hand stroked her face.

  “Jet...wake for me, Jet. Jet...darling, I am so sorry...”

  She choked, shoving away the images that wanted to come with his words.

  She knew who he was now though.

  She knew...

  “Trazen...” she managed.

  Relief swam over her, so intensely it nearly brought tears to her eyes. She knew the relief wasn’t hers, but she could feel him in it, so strongly she almost couldn’t breathe. It wiped out the other thing that had been crushing her heart, for however small a time. It wiped away everything but his presence, the fact that he’d remained with her, that he hadn’t left her.

  Even so, some part of her wondered...

  Wondered...

  No, his voice said, whispering in the back of her mind. No, I didn’t know they had your family, Jet. I would have thought it virtual too, if it wasn’t for what they told us in the audience...

  A pause, then anger infused the Nirreth’s thoughts, a colder anger than any Jet had glimpsed on him, at least since Trazen first showed himself from behind his mask.

  She felt grief there too, along with a shocked disbelief at what he’d just witnessed.

  I have never seen that outside of Retribution before, he told her next, still struggling with his emotions. I have never seen them do something like that...kill family like that...unless the person was a criminal. I am so sorry, Jet...I feel responsible... His thoughts grew bitter, filled with anger and that grieving disbelief. Isreti himself narrated this thing. He got up and explained that this was how the Rings were meant to be...how our forefathers imagined them. He explained that even human ‘animals’ have feelings towards their families, and that this is part of the drama of the Rings...the catharsis of seeing them acted out. He explained that for the Rings to have meaning, the stakes must be higher for all involved. That the Rings were entertainment, but also symbolic...a means to assert the rulership of the Nirreth over all of the universe’s lesser creatures, and their benevolent mercy when it was warranted...

  Jet felt that pain in her gut worsen. She didn’t try to speak, but felt her own anger return, even as she fought to shove away the nausea that tried to rise.

  “Where am I?” she managed.

  She lifted her head, and pain nearly blinded her. Lights shown down on her, so bright she couldn’t see past them. She raised a hand, and was startled to see her bare hand next to the form-fitting sleeve of her sense suit.

  You’re still in the arena, Jet.

  The plan... she managed. The plan...what happened?

  Shhh. His thoughts grew warning. They might still scan you here, Jet. They are discussing what happened now. Whether to charge you for murdering Bukka...

  Murdering... Jet felt her mind tilt somewhere behind her eyes. Murdering Bukka?

  She couldn’t comprehend what he was saying.

  They are saying it was a challenge match, Trazen explained softly, stroking her face. Not to the death...death had not been stipulated. His thoughts turned grim, even as he caressed her hair again with his fingers. They would be having a different conversation, I suspect, had the death occurred to a different contestant. They were all shocked that you killed her so quickly, Jet. It was pretty terrifying to watch, honestly...

  No humor lived in his thoughts as he said it.

  Jet opened her eyes. She found she could take the light that time. It hit her that she lay in Trazen’s lap, that he had his arms and tail wrapped around her where she lay in the middle of the stadium floor. She smelled blood then and groaned, closing her eyes.

  He tightened his hold on her, using all of his limbs.

  When she opened her eyes the next time, she looked at the wooden chairs that stood nearby. She could see only the back of those chairs where she lay, but from the pale arm she could see, covered in rust-colored streaks, the bodies of her mother and brother remained in them.

  Somehow, seeing the chairs there now made it real.

  She felt her whole body clench up. Pain filled her heart and chest, even as Trazen went back to stroking her hair and face, cradling her in his arms and tail and even his legs where she lay on him. She couldn’t cry though. Not here. Not now.

  She would cry later, when this was over.

  She wouldn’t let the people who murdered her family see her cry.

  Trazen’s hands and arms gripped her tighter, even as she forced her mind off the bodies that stood near where they sat. She felt Trazen shift his weight around, as if trying to put himself between her mother and brother and her.

  She tried to think, welcoming any distraction.

  After a few minutes passed, she remembered what they’d discussed at that party. She remembered what was supposed to happen that day.

  Richter? she thought at him softly.

  Trazen shook his head, barely perceptible. No.

  Jet felt her jaw harden more. She could feel the rest through his skin.

  She’d been right. Richter never showed.

  She fought think again about what this meant, but her mind still moved slow, almost sluggish despite the fact that she could tell Trazen had stung her at least once.

  Richter must have given her family to Isreti. But why? Why would he do that? Even if Richter hated her, why would he do something that made so little sense? He knew the threat from Isreti was real. He couldn’t be stupid enough to have tried to
make a deal with Isreti, could he? Richter couldn’t be that stupid, surely.

  Thinking about it, Jet shook her head, remembering him at that party.

  No, whatever else Richter was, he wasn’t stupid. He knew the threat Isreti posed. Isreti was a fanatic––a real one. Richter knew that, too. Isreti wouldn’t make a deal with humans, for any reason. Not one he intended to honor.

  Which only left two options, really.

  One, Richter was using her and Trazen as some kind of distraction, or maybe as a delay tactic to keep Isreti from killing off his people right away.

  Two, Richter meant everything he’d said that night at the party, and something had gone wrong.

  With either of those, Richter might have known Isreti had Jet’s family. However, Jet could only imagine Richter giving her family to Isreti under scenario number one.

  Jet had no idea which of those might be true.

  Shhhh, Trazen reminded her, his thoughts soft as he stroked her hair. Not here, Jet.

  She nodded up at him, but she couldn’t quite let it go. For one thing, it was the only thing distracting her from thinking about her mother and her brother being dead, and the smell of their blood and bodies next to her.

  As soon as she thought it, Trazen was pulling her to her feet. Keeping her facing away from the bodies still tied to those chairs, he steered her firmly towards the transparent wall that formed the boundary of the arena, keeping the bulk of his body between her and her brother and mother so that she couldn’t look back over her shoulder.

  What will they do with their bodies? she asked.

  It’s not important, Jet, he thought back gently.

  She nodded, knowing he was right, that it was superstitious to think anything that happened to them now would matter. Even so, her mother would have cared where her body ended up. She was traditional enough that it would have mattered to her.

  Could you make sure they burn them, at least? she asked, fighting a harder knot in her chest. Would they do that, if you said it was tradition?

  Jet felt Trazen hesitate, right before he nodded.

  I will ask, he said. Do not think about this now, Jet. Please. We must get away from here, first. We must make you safe from this.

  Can’t we leave? Jet thought dully. Can we just go home now?

  He gripped her tighter. No. The Rings Board is still discussing this. We cannot leave until they decide.

  Decide what? Jet’s thoughts grew openly bitter. My points? Whether I lost the match since my family died? Whether to behead me for killing Al-En Mosq’s test-tube woman? What do they need to decide?

  Trazen didn’t answer, but continued to stroke her hair.

  What will they do? Jet thought at him. If they decide I am a murderer...what will they do to me, Trazen? Will they kill me, too? Here?

  Trazen sighed, his face taut. I do not know.

  Jet frowned, not satisfied. They must have known I would kill her...that I would try. If they killed my family, they must have known I would kill Bukka.

  Trazen looked at her. Yes. It is likely.

  Why do it then? she pressed. Why hurt my family, if not to get me to kill her?

  After a pause, Trazen let out another slow sigh. Perhaps they thought they would get what they wanted, either way. He coiled his tail back around her, stroking her neck and face with a hand as he walked. Maybe they thought it better to see you tried and killed...or imprisoned rather than butchered in the Rings. Perhaps Isreti fears you as a martyr.

  They’d reached the transparent wall.

  Outside of it, Jet’s trainer stood watching them approach.

  Alice didn’t move as Trazen activated the door to let them out of the main arena. The woman’s lean, muscular arms were folded in front of her, her angular face set in a grim expression. The long, black dress she wore looked even more incongruous now than it had before the start of this thing, as did her soft black curls held together and out of her face with diamond-studded threads of what looked like copper wire.

  Despite the stoniness of the woman’s face, Jet could tell that she’d been crying, if only from the makeup trails still faintly visible on her narrow cheeks. Alice didn’t avert her gaze, but the coldness in her eyes didn’t feel aimed at Jet at all. Instead, Jet saw a fierceness there towards her...what might even have been protectiveness.

  It was the closest to love Jet had ever seen on the other woman.

  The glass-like door slid open and Alice bowed, her eyes never leaving Jet’s face.

  “Good kill, mammal,” Alice said.

  Jet felt her jaw harden. Still, she heard the emotion behind the other’s words. She gave a curt nod back, letting Alice know she understood.

  “They want you by the judges,” Alice added, giving Trazen a look before returning her eyes to Jet’s face. “Both of you are wanted there. They have made a decision.”

  Jet couldn’t hear Trazen anymore.

  Silence reigned in his mind as they walked back towards the long, velvet-covered bench occupied by a row of now somber-eyed Rings’ Judges. The bench remained exactly where Jet remembered it, positioned just beneath the Royals’ box in the stands.

  Two stone pillars stood on either side of the bench.

  They’d never been here before today, Jet realized, so must be something new. She hadn’t looked at them prior to the match, but could see now that they were carved all over with stern-looking Nirreth holding weapons like swords and spears, killing things that looked like lizards and lions and yes...figures that looked human, too. The pillars reached up about six meters on either side of the white-stone bench, and each had the circumference of a good-sized tree.

  The material of the pillars and the bench both reminded her of the white stone used in the Trevi fountain, back at the palace of the Royals. Somehow the memory disoriented her, reminding her of the day she’d first seen that fountain––her first day inside the Green Zone.

  That felt like a million years ago now.

  Staring at the faces of the five judges in front of her, Jet felt nothing.

  She couldn’t even feel hatred anymore.

  The five Nirreth stared back at her, their expressions mostly grim, wary. The one in the middle, Nurem, still watched Jet with sympathy in his dark green eyes, but a different kind of sympathy than what she’d seen in him before the run started.

  Kneel, Jet. Trazen prodded her mind gently.

  Jet knelt, more in rote than because she’d thought about why, or even made a conscious decision. She knelt as much to buy herself time to think as anything. Once she was down on one knee, her eyes shifted to the right, catching movement by the ramp that lead up from the lower levels of the amphitheater. She wondered if those were Isreti’s guards, ready to take her back to prison when this was over. The thought made her whole body tense, even before she felt Trazen’s fingers gently squeeze the back of her neck.

  Remembering the prison on Astet, Jet’s muscles tensed more.

  She didn’t hear the beginning of what Nurem said. By the time she was listening again, he was already midstream on something Jet had trouble making herself care about.

  “...penalties for depriving one of our brethren of a valued asset,” Nurem intoned seriously. “We have been forced to recommend that the win for this run be forfeit.”

  Next to her, Trazen bowed his head, but did not speak.

  Jet fought not to ask him what that actually meant.

  “...Further, our First Son, Isreti, has chosen to sit with the Rings Board for this decision, as it is affected by his new policies in these games. You will hear their final judgment, which I am told was decided unanimously by the Boards and our glorious First Son and soon to be King of the Nirreth Empire. He will give you that decision now, in person...”

  Jet raised her eyes slightly at this, surprised. Trazen pressed down lightly on her neck, and she lowered them once more. Even so, she could hear the murmurings rippling through the crowd as the silence fell.

  A few seconds later, Jet heard foo
tsteps as a procession of Nirreth descended from the upper levels of the stadium to join them on the arena’s floor.

  Jet stared down at the blood-red carpet where she knelt, listening to the First Son and his entourage approach. She found herself remembering what Trazen had said, how Isreti had explained to them why Jet’s mother and brother had to die to show the world how little a human life meant...how it could be used as a symbol, even for someone like Jet, probably the most famous human who lived in the Green Zone at this time.

  Especially someone like Jet.

  Her very fame, her very popularity among the Nirreth, is what got her mother and brother killed. Jet felt her mind grinding around that fact as the heavy footsteps got closer.

  She didn’t raise her head, but watched their feet and legs from where her eyes remained focused down and forward. She saw jewel-encrusted gold sandals, and a flowing white and black cloak and knew that had to belong to Isreti. She’d seen his clothing before, and knew he had a tendency to dress like some kind of fantasy king from an old Earth story book.

  Those gold sandals stopped directly in front of Jet, and the First Son let out a low growl, slashing his tail in sensual flicks behind his back.

  “Your human has broken the law,” Isreti said to Trazen.

  Jet didn’t look up, but she felt Trazen stiffen.

  “I apologize, Revered First Son,” he said humbly.

  Isret’s hiss grew louder, more aggressive. “An apology is not enough, Ringmaster Trazen. You obviously do not have this mammal under control.” A silence fell and those in the stadium above fell silent too. Jet imagined Isreti looking down at her through it.

  “She defies you,” Isreti pronounced. “She defies you...and you show affection to her.”

  “She has never defied me, First Son.”

  “Oh?” Isreti said, letting out a low growl as he stretched out another pause. “Did you order her to kill Al-En Mosq’s beast? Was that something you instructed her to do?”

  Trazen paused, then tightened his hold on her neck. “I did not instruct her on that point specifically at all, Revered Prince. She followed the strategy I requested of her prior to the run. She did everything I asked of her, apart from the end, and I gave her no instructions about that other than to beat Al-En Mosq’s human in a fight. I was not at all clear as to how––”