Darkness Trilogy (Book 2): Death In Darkness

by Alexander, Lee

  “How the fuck did you know that? We haven't said anything about that.” He half hissed at me.

  “What's the point of secrets now? Anyway, I just said she told me.” I waved at the corpse of Sshaa for emphasis.

  “Fine, what else did she say?”

  “The sun isn't gone.”

  “Uh, fuck yes it is. Look outside. There hasn't been sunlight in over a month. The whole fuckin' planet is dead.”

  “The sunlight is gone. That's because it's blocked. The sun is still there. They put the sun inside a Dyson sphere. They're harvesting the energy from the sun. She said they also harvest the planets.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “If I had to guess, they strip the planets of useful resources like metals, and living organisms for food.”

  “Fuckin' monsters. Well, what's the next move?”

  “Bazua, why the fuck are you asking me? I don't understand what's going on. Okay, not entirely true. But I have no idea what to do.”

  “What the ever-loving FUCK is going on in my hangar?” Shouted the General. His voice carried from the entrance tunnel, loud in the relative silence. Bazua waved him down, and I saw the scowl on Turner's face change. It was still a scowl, but less angry and more perturbed. He approached, looking up at me in minute glances.

  “Report, soldier.”

  “Sir, we had an incursion. DeWisr here helped repel their force, and faced their warrior class, bringing it down in single combat.” Bazua snapped the report out in quick, precise words. The General was nodding along until the final words registered.

  “Single combat? What weapons did he use?” He still pointedly avoided looking at me. I could sense his discomfort. When I had initially arrived in the base, I was a fairly average, if more muscular, man. Now I towered more than a foot over him. I took another look at myself and registered the sheer amount of ichor covering me. I took a step back to ensure there would be no accidental contact.

  “I used that pipe,” I said while I pointed at the length of metal embedded in the Naga and the HMMV. He looked briefly at it, then did a double take.

  “Soldier⸺ son. I realize you are not one of my soldiers. However, you are clearly a very impressive and useful asset. When Doctor Doore informed me he had an experiment ongoing utilizing the virus, I didn't realize he meant you. That man plays with his cards very close to the vest.”

  “That he does, sir. I'll help out any way I can.”

  “Tell me of your capabilities.”

  I briefly explained what I had observed to be within my capability. Bazua threw in small comments, mostly from his observations during the fight. The General nodded, arms crossed, a stern expression of heavy thought clouding his face.

  “DeWisr, you're immune to temperature, right? That's what you said?”

  “No sir. I don't seem to be bothered by the cold though.”

  “That's acceptable. We need a cleared driveway.”

  “Are we leaving?” I asked. I had grown fond of the bunker in the limited time we had been there. It was far more comfortable than the office had been.

  “Not just yet. I will need to reflect on our situation. We are exposed, with heat leaking through that opening. We have also been found, somehow. However, we have more than six hundred personnel here, and the nearest confirmed safe location is almost two thousand miles away.”

  “I'll take a look at the ship and see what I can do about the doors.”

  “Good. Bazua, join me in my office. Mr. DeWisr, please clean yourself up and join us at your earliest convenience. That work can wait.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned and walked away, talking quietly with Bazua. I quickly set about gathering the Naga corpses and hauling them outside. As I worked, the blood dried and froze in the cold. Most of it had flaked off by the time I had all of the aliens laid out on the side of the road outside.

  One of the soldiers had dragged a hose from somewhere deeper in the hangar and was blasting down the concrete to remove any sign of blood. I signaled for him to hit me, but he hesitated. I understood after a moment, since conversation was impossible over the noise of the hose. I grabbed a different pipe and drove it into the floor, wrapping my hands around it as an anchor. The soldier nodded and hosed me down. Once we were both satisfied, I stepped outside to let the water freeze and crumble off of me. I stepped back into the hangar and walked back toward the entrance tunnel.

  The first door in the tunnel had 'GEN. TURNER' on a placard. I opened the door and found a small office with a desk set center. There was a couch for people who were waiting. Two doors led out of the back of the office. Lt. Perkins sat at the desk, talking into a headset and using the terminal in front of her. She looked up as I entered and hooked a thumb over her shoulder to the door on her right. I nodded and walked through.

  The deeper office was larger, roughly twenty feet on a side compared to maybe twelve feet in the previous room. Two large, plush leather chairs sat in front of a dark wood desk. Bazua sat in one, craning his head to look back at the door. Behind the desk sat Turner. He had a commanding presence, aided by the relative opulence of the room. His chair was high, clad in dark leather and finished with a nice filigree. Bookshelves lined the walls, leaving barely enough room to have a single display for his ribbons and accolades.

  “DeWisr, thank you for joining us.” Turner nearly covered his impatience with me. I saw a smirk curl one side of Bazua's mouth before he schooled his reaction. “We have one more joining us. Let me get this timeline correct⸺” He shuffled through a small pile of papers.

  I made my way to a corner and leaned carefully against the book case. I had a hunch who the final person would be, and intended to leave the last chair open for them.

  “Here we are. Approximately forty six hours ago, Emmanuel Castillo underwent a change in relation to the virus, and escaped containment. One 'Tracy Gelyn'⸺”

  “I'm sorry to interrupt sir, I think her name was Finley.”

  He scowled at me, then changed his attention to the paperwork.

  “No, son. I have it right here, she even signed it as 'Gelyn'.”

  “Well that's a bit on the nose.” I muttered.

  “What's that?” Turner said in exasperation.

  “It's another Welsh name. Like mine.”

  “Why does that matter?” He fixed me with a withering glare.

  “My name translates more or less as 'Chosen'. Her name translates as 'Enemy'. Just seemed a bit⸺ I don't think she was aware of the translation, but that makes it ironic.”

  “Noted. Moving on, it seems the aforementioned woman was killed during the Castillo event. You were injured during the event, but immediately checked yourself out of the hospital. The next morning, your team with the addition of Sergeant Bazua inspected Ms. Gelyn's room, and found disturbing evidence of her collusion with the enemy. Is this right so far?”

  “Yes sir,” Bazua and I said simultaneously.

  “Then you blew up several computers, and now we have an incursion event from the actual enemy.” He shot a look at me as he emphasized 'actual'. “Is there anything I left out?”

  I looked at Bazua, but he remained looking dead ahead. I decided to discuss it anyway.

  “The large one⸺ I think you called it a 'warrior class'⸺” he nodded to show he was following. “She spoke to me.”

  I paused to let him take the information in. He sat calmly, then ordered the papers carefully. He took such a painfully long time, I started to ready myself to leave. Just then, the door to the office opened, and Doctor Doore casually strode in and sat himself in the open chair.

  “Allan, thank you for joining us.” The General's tone was much more amiable as he spared a slight smile for the doctor.

  “Thank you Jim. What have you covered?”

  “Only the events of the previous forty-eight hours. Do you need an update?”

  “No, no need. I was informed of the updates by Lt. Perkins.”

  “Excellent. Now, we ca
n begin the talk in earnest. First⸺” he looked at each of us in turn. “Scotch?”

  “Oh, yes please, Jim,” said Allan. He had his characteristic excitement behind his otherwise casual tone. I nodded, though Bazua started to balk.

  “No sir, I'm on duty⸺”

  “Exceptional circumstances. We have a few toasts to cover as well. You'll take a glass, and that's the last I'll hear of it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Turner opened a drawer in his desk and retrieved a crystal decanter and four crystal glasses. He poured off a triple for each of us, then paused, and doubled it in the fourth glass. I expected him to keep the full glass, but was surprised when he handed it off to me. He took a whiff of the scotch, then a sip. I followed his example. It was strong, but smooth.

  Chapter 23

  Darkness +36, 2033

  Greater Seattle Area, Washington, USA

  Location Undisclosed, Base 13, Project Osiris

  -65°F

  0033 Hours

  “Where do we start?” asked Allan.

  “Perhaps what happened this afternoon with Sergeant Velasquez?” replied Turner. I felt an immediate need to run, but quashed the ridiculous response.

  “He attacked me.”

  “Mm, yes, we saw that,” stated Allan blandly. I shot him a look that he ignored.

  “Son, we have cameras everywhere save bathrooms and most suites. Your exploits are well known. Quite impressive, really. Ingenious use of materials to make workout equipment up to snuff for yourself. What I'm more interested in was what Velasquez said to you. Don't get me wrong, the fight was quite a show.”

  “Uh... okay. He was talking about how I was unworthy, how he would save humanity, not me. Stuff like that.”

  “Please remember exactly what he said, this is important.” Said Allan.

  I sat for a moment and thought. I closed my eyes and poured over the memory, and slowly started to speak.

  “I alone am worthy. I have been chosen, been made worthy of the tattoos of change.” I opened my eyes to see all three of them staring at me.

  “Those were his exact words?” Asked Allan. His demeanor was the most serious I had ever seen him.

  “Yeah, near as I can recall. It was kind of a blur, and he'd already beaten me half to death.”

  Allan and Turner met eyes, completely missing my end comment. Silent communication occurred between them for a moment.

  “Hey, Doc, General, care to clue us in?” I said impatiently.

  “No.” Said Turner, even as Allan began to speak.

  “Nonsense, Jim. This is vital information that he's given us. We now know the program was a success.”

  “Like hell it was, all four men from Omega company are dead!” Turner shouted. My jaw dropped in shock. I met Bazua's eyes as he looked at me. He was as surprised as I was.

  “You're the reason my friends, my brothers are dead?” Said Bazua quietly.

  “Easy son. They knew the risks⸺”

  “THE RISKS?” Exploded Bazua. He surged to his feet, sending his chair flying back into the wall. A small shriek sounded from the outer office in response. I motioned for Bazua to calm down. He breathed heavily for a moment, staring down at Turner.

  “Tell me how they knew the fuckin' risks,” snarled Bazua. He continued to breath, slower and deeper. I saw a deadly calm descend over him. Turner was on the executioner's block.

  “This was a side effect that was predicted.” Turner said calmly. His hands were fiddling with something under his desk. I watched Turner like a hawk, knowing he was up to something. I casually reached down and grabbed his arms, dragging him up and exposing the gun he was holding.

  “Let's play nice now, General.”

  He blanched, all blood draining from his face. Bazua started to advance, but I shot him a look. He stopped, glaring at me. Then he righted his chair and sat down. I gently took the gun from Turner. Once it was fully in my control, I crumpled it in my grasp, making sure Turner watched. Then I put the paperweight down on his desk.

  “Start from the beginning. Be honest too, because next time I wont stop Bazua. He's my friend, unlike you.”

  A startled glance was all I got in response from Bazua. I nodded minutely, then stood and leaned back against the shelves. Allan had sat placidly during the entire exchange.

  “Perhaps it is time to let the truth be known, Jim.” He said with a faint smile.

  Turner growled. “Fine. This is on you, Allan.”

  “That is more than fair. Shall I begin?”

  Turner just nodded.

  “Very well. Decades ago⸺ nearly a century now, in 1947, an alien craft crashed. This was first actual contact for the US government. The pilot died on impact, in fact mostly ending up a smear of ichor. We learned a lot from the accident. Science was advance incredibly, though mostly in an effort to understand what they used.”

  “Are you saying the microchip revolution was due to aliens?” I asked incredulously.

  “Yes and no. It happened because we needed far greater technology to help us understand the underlying principles of the craft. Let me ask you something that may seem unrelated. How are the craft outside flying?”

  “Well, I never saw anything. If I had to guess, I would say reactionless drives,” I replied.

  “Excellent guess!” Crowed Allan.

  “What the hell is a reactionless drive?” Asked Bazua.

  “Care to do the honors, Dante?” said Allan.

  “Sure. You know how cars use gas to make tires spin on asphalt?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Okay. Now, you understand that on a fundamental level, a rocket ship is essentially the same principle? That is, when a rocket burns fuel, it pushes the heat and exhaust out as a way to drive the ship.” Bazua nodded hesitantly. “Great. That's what's called a reaction drive. You use something to create a reaction. It's Newton's laws. A reactionless drive... ignores those laws. Sort of. Anyway, they're purely theoretical and they started showing up in science fiction in the late forties...” I trailed off as I said the last sentence. Allan beamed and nodded vigorously.

  “Excellent! You have put it together, lad! We came to learn of reactionless drives from the wreckage of the Roswell craft. Eventually, we came to one conclusion.”

  “Magic.” I said, deadpan. Bazua sat back in his chair, sipping scotch and watching as we talked back and forth.

  “Indeed. We then learned that there was magic everywhere in the world, but more concentrated in some areas. Of course, once a resource becomes known, it can eventually be manipulated, stored, even used outright. Your office building is one such example.”

  I had been taking a sip of the scotch when he said that. I nearly sputtered, only holding in my incredulity by force of will. I swallowed, feeling the burn of alcohol in my throat.

  “What?” I rasped out.

  “Yes, lad. That reactor you found in the bunker deep below your office building was a second generation generator fueled using magic.”

  “MF Reactor... magic field. MOTHERFUCKER. It was staring me in the face the entire time!” Bazua hardly reacted, but Allan had a hearty chuckle. Turner remained silent and surly.

  “Quite right. We never did discover what caused the destruction in the bunker below your office. That brings us to this week. Mr Castillo and Mr Velasquez. It would seem they had been altered by a different thread of research into magic. Jim, care to explain here?”

  “Wait,” I interjected. Turner gave me a dour glare, but waited. “When we were in the tower, strange shit kept happening, and people would just brush it off. Like, Tracy went missing for a week⸺ a fucking week! And nobody really thought about it. Then she comes back and it was life as normal just ten minutes later. What's the deal with that?”

  “Magic, lad. It is hypothesized that the larger Xenos have a limited ability to influence humans. Sooth or enrage emotions as it were.” Replied Allan.

  “Okay, but what about the fact that the temperatures in the office bui
lding were significantly higher than the outside, save for the floors that were completely open to the elements? Why did nobody get hypothermia or frostbite?”

  “The same answer. However, I suspect that this was due to the people in your office. Miss Revan had a pick of personnel for her office, however the list she drew from was curated. People with notable links to unexplained events, large pieces of history, or simply extreme luck. Your case is not unique among the people of your office, however it is far stronger than most others. Your friend, Mason? He has similar stories in his own lineage. We believe this is due to the use of magic, if subconsciously.”

  “So you're saying we used magic to keep ourselves safe?”

  “Is that so surprising? You and your cohorts were not targeted, remained unmolested until new people arrived, and stayed healthy. That's the truly shocking part of your time in that building. Now, Jim, would you care to explain the research I mentioned?”

  Turner growled quietly, then nodded.

  “Augmentation. We discovered that certain symbols that decorated the hull of the ship caused different effects. One was durability, which meant more than just impermeability. We discovered putting certain sequences on flesh could confer great strength. The research took decades, and a program was developed. One that used genetic material to identify certain genes passed down through families. It signified if the energy would affect a person, and in a positive or negative fashion.”

  “What does that mean, General?” Bazua said. I could still hear the rage simmering below the surface.

  “It means, Sergeant, that the same sequence, or spell if you wish, can affect different people in different ways. Castillo and Velasquez, as well as Chen and Johnson, had some of the highest compatibility we had ever come across. They were already special forces by the time the program found them. They were augmented with the tattoos, resulting in greatly increased strength, speed, and intelligence.”

  “How much?” I asked. It sounded like what happened to me, except I had no new tattoos.

  “Nearly on par with you, Dante. They were at roughly four hundred percent of baseline.”

  “I'm not at four hundred percent. They also looked normal. And is that the same list that the office was drawn from?”