by N. W. Harris
“We should go,” Anfisa nervously said. “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”
“Agreed,” Shane replied, turning so he faced the backyard. “Everyone, grab your stuff. We move out immediately.”
The kids didn’t need a second invitation. They’d seen what Greenie would do if they didn’t get moving. Shane slung his gun over his shoulder and hoisted his backpack, which had gained a few pounds on this stop. While he was making pancakes, Steve and Anfisa had dispensed food from Granny’s pantry, adding some extra provisions to everyone’s packs.
“Form up,” Tracy shouted.
The kids rushed into the formation they’d practiced the night before, if this darkness could be called night. It lasted longer than any normal night, only relenting when Greenie decided they needed a break.
“Do we try to take the road?” Tracy asked. “It’d be easier.”
“Yeah, but we’d have to go east into Leeville before we could turn south again,” Shane replied. “I don’t think Greenie would approve, and I don’t want to risk someone’s life to find out.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Anfisa agreed. “We have to go due south, directly toward that light.” She pointed at the beam coming down somewhere in Atlanta.
“The freeway runs at an angle, going southeast of here,” Steve said. “If we go due south, we’re bound to hit it eventually.”
“I think that’s the safest bet,” Shane replied. “We’d better get them moving.” He nodded to Tracy.
The tough blonde girl looked at her girlfriend one last time. Jules was wrapped in rope from below her shoulders to the top of her hips, her arms tight against her body. A tail of the rope that secured her led to Maurice. He’d tied it around his wrist, probably afraid of letting her go for even a second.
Jules didn’t return Tracy’s gaze. Her murderous glare fixed on Jones and his clones. Tracy’s brow drooped with the same sadness Shane felt from seeing Kelly forget him all over again. Tracy turned away, checking on the kids they were responsible for. Her forlorn expression faded, replaced by the stoic determination he’d relied on since they’d become friends.
“You want to take point?” Shane asked.
“Yeah, I got it,” Tracy replied, then walked to the head of the small army of teenagers and children. “Let’s move out,” she shouted, starting them down the hill and into the forest.
Pushing through the woods was challenging, but Shane didn’t mind being slowed by the rugged terrain. He recalled the journey to Atlanta on that freeway just after the adults died, his stomach churning at the memories. That was when they’d lost Matt. It was also when they’d learned how strong they really were, and that they could survive anything if they stuck together. The memories made him miss Matt and Aaron. Aaron had been his friend for so many years, and then in the battle in Atlanta, he was gone in an instant. Those friends, those deaths, seemed like they were from another lifetime.
Here they were now, marching south toward Atlanta once more, the lives of a bunch of kids in their hands. Who would they lose this time? Shane looked around at Steve, Kelly, Maurice, Jules, Laura, Anfisa, Petrov, and the other Russians. Which of his friends would have to die so that the rest could live? He hoped none of them, though he feared they all might perish on this mission. They were better prepared than before, but he worried no amount of training would give them an advantage with an enemy as powerful as Greenie.
“We do what we have to do,” Steve said quietly as they stepped out of the band of woods and onto the next farm.
“What?” Shane looked at him.
“Ah, nothing,” Steve said. “My head was just spinning from all this shit.”
“Mine too.” Shane reckoned they all had plenty to think about.
“I was just trying to shut it up,” Steve added. “Don’t make a difference whose field we’re playing on. We just got to play the game the best way we can.”
“Yep.” Shane couldn’t help but smile at his big friend’s fortitude. “Come what may, we just gotta keep doing what we do,” he echoed, feeling lighter from the thought.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Satisfied he’d earned Shamus and his subjects’ fear and respect, Athos made his way around the ship. He stayed on the level where he’d met with Shamus, five floors above the ground. His Anunnaki commanders were stationed on this floor on all sides of the Pegasus so they could monitor the humans around the base and quickly give orders to those under their charge if needed.
The warm light cast down on the lower levels of the ship and on the ground around her changed the atmosphere beyond his expectations. On his last visit, the humans and his soldiers were clearly demoralized, moving slower than they should and wearing gloomy expressions. Now, laughter carried up from the ground and the air was charged with a fresh sense of hope. He could also see new fear and respect in their eyes when they glanced up toward the Pegasus’ city.
The area the ship’s engineers reflected light upon was crowded, Shamus’ followers loitering around in a chaotic mess that served no military purpose. Athos had human slaves from the Pegasus weave through the new recruits, organizing them into squads and assigning them areas to camp. Taking orders from the all-white-uniformed humans would help to further shift the new recruits’ allegiance from Shamus to the Anunnaki, if the light alone wasn’t enough to do it.
In contrast to the park areas around the ship’s city high above them, the humans’ tents were laid out in neat rows leading away from the vessel. Not only did this instill a sense of discipline and order, but it also funneled any attacking enemy in close to the Pegasus. There, his soldiers could use the elevated position to their advantage, inflicting the most damage on the enemy as possible while maintaining the easily defended lower levels.
Athos’ spirit lifted as he walked the perimeter. Officers greeted him with genuine smiles and growing optimism. That indomitable belief that the Anunnaki could not fail was rekindled. He gave each of his commanders the time they needed to report on the status of their troops, and he communicated his plan for the ship’s defense to them.
“Why don’t we just move all these humans onto the lower levels of the ship now?” a bold young female Shock Troop soldier who oversaw the west side of the Pegasus asked. “Then we can drill them and make them more effective at defending her.”
“Yes,” Athos replied patiently. “But then we will also have allowed them to take up residence on the Pegasus. Imagine how hard it could be to evict them once they make themselves at home in these apartments.”
The soldier nodded in agreement, not looking embarrassed that she hadn’t thought of that. It was why she’d been chosen for a leadership position. The general wanted his officers to give their opinion on his tactics if time permitted, even at the risk of being reprimanded. He wanted them to be able to think on their feet, to ask questions, and to search for solutions so they could survive if they were separated from their commanders during combat.
When Athos made it all the way around the makeshift elevator again, he was exhausted. The engineers started turning the panels slowly to simulate the end of an Earth day. The beam of light shining on the ship’s city high above didn’t seem to come from the sun. It was consistent, ideal for powering their new weapon. However, it wouldn’t do for the humans to be bathed nonstop by the light. They’d perform better with a regular light and dark schedule.
He climbed onto the crude elevator and told the soldier working the lower end to give the signal. The bench lurched as the soldiers at the top began to turn the winches, and then it settled at a steady pace, rising away from his growing army. The mirrors were turned down so the light no longer reflected on them, and night fell upon the base of the Pegasus.
The humans seemed to have faith the Anunnaki would return the light to them in the morning. Instead of an uproar over losing the light, they settled quietly in around campfires, small splashes of orange glows freckling the dark ground surrounding the ship in a regular pattern. They burned pieces of w
ood collected from the buildings surrounding the airport. Athos wondered how long they could camp there before they dragged the entire city to the base of the Pegasus and burned it in those fires. Of course, they’d run out of food long before that. Shamus had already set up a food-distribution system for his people, assembling teams to go out and gather canned and dry goods from the homes in the city and to bring livestock from farms on the outskirts. Athos let him continue to control that activity, although he hated allowing him this power. He hoped it wasn’t a move he’d come to regret, but the Anunnaki were too few in numbers to manage anything beyond protecting the ship.
There were more fires than the general could count. It meant thousands of humans rested around the base of the ship, ready to fight for Athos against whatever the green entity planned to throw at him.
He wished they were enough, but feared the worst. This enemy was far too powerful to be defeated by human slaves with crude weapons. It would take something else to win against the green entity, and he’d yet to find a clue as to what that might be.
Two thirds of the way up the side of the Pegasus, he recalled the message they had received from the ship that collapsed the wormhole to Earth. The captain of that ship had reported Anu was destroyed. Athos’ chest ached at the memory that his home world gone.
This glowing green enemy had done that. It had also crippled his ship and forced her to land, depriving them of the most fundamental resource an advanced species needed to survive—electricity. But his people were surviving. With just the solitary beam of light allowed to them, they were thriving. If this powerful foe was testing the resiliency of the Anunnaki, there was no doubt that they were passing with flying colors.
As he neared the flat top of the pyramid-shaped recruit ship, the roar of conflict reached Athos’ ears. Taken by surprise by the riotous noises, he twisted in his seat to see what was going on. From the side of the ship, he could see nothing. The soldiers pulled him to the top, and Athos jumped from the bench.
“What in the name of the gods is going on up here?” he asked the first soldier he came too.
“I don’t know, sir,” the sergeant answered. “It was quiet a few moments ago. Suddenly, the citizens began shouting and pushing our soldiers out toward the perimeter.”
A chanting arose from the center of the ship’s city. At first, Athos couldn’t understand what they were saying. As the chant grew louder, it became clear.
“We won’t stand for martial law,” they shouted. “Control to the citizens!” They repeated the protest, more voices joining in with each chant.
“Damn conniving aristocrats,” Athos cursed, pushing his way toward the line that had formed between the citizens and his soldiers. “They’ll doom us all.”
He noticed only his marines stationed around the perimeter. The Pegasus’ sailors had moved into the crowd with the citizens and were chanting alongside them. He knew Admiral Vecan must be involved in the mutiny, though he doubted he’d masterminded it. Glancing back at the mirrors set up along the edge of the ship, he saw they were still manned.
“Don’t let any of those engineers leave their post,” he ordered a Shock Troop commander.
“Yes, sir,” the commander replied, a look of comprehension coming into his eyes.
As long as Athos controlled the light, he controlled the humans down on the ground below. The ship was tall enough so the humans wouldn’t hear the conflict going on between the Anunnaki, and he knew he had to keep the humans in the dark about any dissension there. They’d be less likely to follow Anunnaki orders if they knew their leaders were fighting among themselves.
Approaching the line between his soldiers and the citizens, Athos saw Gentras. The elder nodded to him, as if he’d been waiting for the general. With the help of the citizens nearby, Gentras climbed onto a table. He raised a cone to his mouth to amplify his voice.
“Citizens,” he shouted. “Please, calm yourselves.”
The citizens and sailors shushed each other until the crowd fell silent.
“You may disagree with General Athos’ implementation of martial law,” Gentras continued once everyone was listening, “but the general has committed no crime. We need not show animosity toward the soldiers who follow him. They are our brothers and sisters. Please, return to your business. The elders will address your complaints with the general. I’m sure we can reach an agreement that will satisfy everyone.”
It was obvious the speech was directed at Athos as much as the riotous citizens. Gentras implied the people were rebelling against the general and his implementation of martial law. He’d seen how scared the citizens had been after they were forced to land and how relieved they were when Athos and his soldiers had taken control and had returned a semblance of normalcy to their lives. Neither he nor his soldiers had done anything to oppress the citizens. They had no reason to revolt. This aggression came from the power-hungry aristocrats.
The citizens made sounds of agreement with Gentras and began to disperse. Gentras climbed off the table and approached Athos, his usual smile on his face. Although he had a general distaste for the aristocrats, who loved to be in control but never wanted to get their hands dirty, Athos had grown to respect and even like Gentras. Those feelings were gone now. He’d thought this elder wasn’t so much like the rest, that he was more honest and just. Athos had been wrong. Apparently, Gentras was just better at manipulation and deceit than any aristocrat he’d ever had the displeasure of working with.
“General Athos,” Gentras said. “Thank goodness you’ve returned.” A master of his game, he sounded genuine and never broke eye contact with the general.
“Gentras,” Athos replied. He kept his voice stoic, not allowing any sign of his annoyance to show. “It appears we’ve had some civil unrest while I was away.”
“Yes.” Gentras gestured at the citizens. “Perhaps a topic more fitting for the council hall. If you care to join me, I’m sure we can get this sorted.”
“Very well,” the general replied.
The elder smiled and headed toward the center of the city. Athos followed.
“Sir,” the commander in charge of this section of the ship’s perimeter said, concern in his voice. “Please allow me to send an armed escort with you.”
Gentras stopped and faced Athos and the commander.
“That won’t be necessary,” Athos replied, eyeing Gentras as he spoke to the commander. “I should hope I’m safe among my own people.”
“Of course you are,” Gentras answered, seeming relieved the general opted not to bring soldiers into the council building. “There is no chance of violence; this is simply a question of government.”
Gentras continued into the city. Athos glanced at his commander, who wore a worried expression.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Athos said, curbing his anger.
The general marched off after the elder, certain things had not deteriorated to the point that he needed a guard. Gentras looked over his shoulder and saw Athos following him, waiting for him to catch up.
“Good judgment,” Gentras said.
“Excuse me?” Athos said, unclear as to the aristocrat’s meaning.
“You knew the council and citizens posed no risk,” Gentras said. “We are aware you are only trying to keep us alive.”
“I’d gladly lay down my life for that purpose,” Athos replied. He meant his words, though he wasn’t as certain of the elder’s sincerity. “What I don’t understand is why the citizens would turn against the military. I leave the city for less than an Earth day and return to a people divided. How can this be?”
“This is more than I can answer here,” Gentras replied, giving Athos a reassuring smile. “However, I am confident these issues will be resolved.”
“They must be,” Athos replied sharply. “We are too few in number for this dissension.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Gentras said, his tone implying he wouldn’t shed any light on the scene that greeted the general upon his return.
The citizens eyed the general as he passed. It didn’t appear that their gazes held animosity. They looked frightened and uncertain. By studying them, Athos gathered further evidence that they were not responsible for this revolt. He had saved them from chaos after they landed, had organized them and given them purpose and hope. Although he’d technically declared martial law, he’d been careful not to make the citizens feel suppressed by the military. By the time he reached the council building, he was even more certain it wasn’t the citizens who caused the rift—it was the power-hungry aristocrats.
Upon entering the council hall, Gentras walked to his seat at the curved table that lined the wall of the circular room. The royals who’d been mingling saw the general and made their way to their own seats. There was no place for Athos to sit, and, as usual, he was left standing in the middle of the room with all eyes on him. It always felt like he was on trial when he addressed the council, an insult to the officer who’d dedicated his life to protecting and growing the empire, to making sure the aristocrats had these council halls in which to sit.
“Thank you for joining us on such short notice, General Athos. After your visit to the lower levels of the ship, I know you must need rest.” Gentras’ voice cut the chatter of the other aristocrats.
“Yes, I am weary,” Athos said, his tone imparting more than one meaning to the word. “Let us skip the niceties and get straight to business. What is going on up here? Why are the citizens,” he gave a slicing glare to Admiral Vecan, “and the naval personnel treating my marines with such disrespect?”
He kept his glare on the admiral until the young aristocrat squirmed in his seat. Because of his heritage, the admiral was allowed a seat on the council. Athos didn’t come from a royal bloodline, so he wasn’t afforded the luxury. Regardless, the admiral should be standing next to the general, supporting and helping to enforce the instatement of martial law, not allowing his sailors to be manipulated by the council.