[scifan] plantation 06 - plantations origins Read online

  Eric licked his lips, fearing where this was going. “What role can we play in any of this?”

  Zarok contemplated the question. “We, like our planet, are dying,” he said, picking his next words carefully. “Being suspended in our cryo capsules slowed the degenerative effects of the increased radiation that has plagued our planet. For hundreds of years, our atmosphere has been turning toxic.”

  “We just barely survived Lagerian attempts to use our planet and our people,” Freya said, fighting to keep her hands below the table.

  “We did not know where the Empire had settled,” Zarok explained, showing a hint of emotion for the first time. “We also did not know of their methods of operation on your Earth, until we came out of stasis.”

  “And we are to believe you are any different?” Eric said.

  “Different, yes,” Zarok said, “We are different, if that’s what you’re asking. On our planet, the ethical content of our people is not rigid. We have variation of intent and purpose like in any world.”

  “Let me guess, you’re the good ones,” Freya said.

  Zarok tilted his head, gazing deep into her eyes. “We are trying always to be of pure intent. It is a form you march toward, a journey without end, a destination pursued through the light and the dark.”

  “Okay,” Freya said, unsure.

  “Forgive me,” Zarok said. “Those are the words of an ancient. We often use them to guide our purpose.”

  “It seems like every Lagerian, good or evil, came here for the same purpose. How could you think Earth would ever survive?” Eric asked.

  “Our vessel took damage in a solar storm, throwing us both off our course and slowing our speed of travel. We did not know this until we awoke. Nalok waited for us through the years. Eldaria did not know of our planned arrival. If she had, she would not have rose up to kill Nalok.”

  “We may not appear weak on the outside, but our force is in decline,” another lord cut in. “We can’t fight in our current state.”

  “You want to fight us?” Freya said, pushing away from the table and lifting her hands.

  “Not you,” Zarok said. “Them.”

  A slim glass screen dropped down to hover above the table. Freya and Eric watched as four humanoid creatures with disproportionately large feet filled up the screen. The creatures appeared to have long, thin claws, but on closer inspection the claws were bony fingers. Straight, silver hair fell to their shoulders, but that’s where the human attributes ended. Their faces were not flesh, but white, synthetic masks, and long, narrow tails wrapped playfully around their thighs.

  Eric went pale. “Are these Merdigors?”

  Zarok scratched his temples. “Indeed. So you have heard of them?”

  “Nalok told me frightening stories.”

  “And did he mention all they are capable of?”

  “Capable of?” Freya said, fixated on the peculiar image.

  “Merdigors are bloodthirsty hunters,” Zarok said. “They revel in the torture and humiliation of their opponents. Despite their savagery, they possess evolved intelligence. They work most often as spies and have stolen valuable secrets across the galaxy, including system specifics of our genetically encoded weaponry, nerve impulse technology and tele-kinesics.”

  “They sound wonderful,” Freya said with a sigh.

  “Not wonderful,” Zarok said, missing the sarcasm. “With that knowledge, Merdigors built an invincible fleet of fighter ships and evasive missiles. They have ripped apart the galaxy, having chained, burned and erased many of the civilized tribes in former Empire territories. They do not enjoy their riches. They only enjoy their next conquest. Once they have taken over our world, they will come for yours.”

  The grim description shook Eric to the core. After years of nightmares, he had finally discovered their source. “What is it you think we can do?”

  Zarok raised an eyebrow. “We are losing vitality. Since emerging from stasis, we have noticed limitations in our ability to channel energy. We depend on those electromagnetic forces the way you depend on your immune system.”

  A lord at the other end of the table cleared his throat. “Commander Supreme Zarok is the last Lagerian who can wield the power of a sensory receptor device effectively.”

  “Master Oruk is correct,” Zarok confirmed. “We lose ground each day. Only the hybrids and their combined powers can ensure our future now. Nalok assured us of this in a recorded message.”

  Freya’s cheeks flushed. “You expect us to fight for you? I don’t think so. I’ve seen enough bloodshed fighting against your lust for survival.”

  “Indeed not. We need you to help us unlock our power through your energy reserves, so we can regain the true magnificence of the species. Then we will fight on our own to protect our world and yours. We will forever be in your debt.”

  Eric considered blowing them all to hell. He’d be damned if he helped any Lagerian, oppressor or not, get back the menacing powers that enslaved humanity and countless other worlds.

  “The supreme powers of we Lagerians must be restored before the Merdigor menace is too strong,” an overlord implored.

  “We all must play our role. Together we will thrive. Peace will guide the galaxy and restore trust between our species,” another lord added.

  “How long have we been here?” Eric said, stealing a glance at Freya.

  “Thirty-four of your hours,” Zarok answered.

  “Damian must be out of his mind,” Freya mumbled under her breath.

  “Lada will lead you back to your chambers. Please discuss all that we have shared and requested,” Zarok said.

  Lada raised her right hand to salute the council. Her left arm was a prosthetic and she limped when she walked. Old scars covered half her face.

  She bowed to Eric and Freya who followed her to the door, but then Freya turned back and glared at the council. “You say you mean us no harm and yet you set my own army against me.”

  The Lagerian lords looked to each other. “We know not what you mean, Freya, the self-named,” Oruk said in the end.

  Freya huffed. Her brief exchange with Zarok had been broadcasted apparently. “Two officers of my Sliman army tried to kill me. These are loyal fighters who would happily give their lives for mine, but they were not themselves. They were mutated in Lagerian labs long ago. You probably know how to manipulate them.”

  Zarok walked up to Freya. “You have our word that we had nothing to do with this attack. We would never risk harming you. We need you alive.”

  “Maybe you just need Eric. Maybe I’m collateral damage,” Freya said.

  “Please, you must be hungry,” Zarok said. “Eat while you contemplate. I trust you will find your way to the truth of these matters.”

  The two hybrids walked quietly behind Lada. They walked down one corridor and then the next with their heads spinning within a storm of new thoughts and considerations.

  “Tell me you didn’t believe a word,” Freya said as soon as Lada had left them alone in Eric’s chamber.

  Eric fell to his bed with a thud. “I don’t know, Freya.”

  “Eric, what the hell,” she said. “Get up. What’s your gut telling you?”

  “I don’t know… to play along.”

  “Play along? Until what? They put us in a pot to make a nice hybrid soup?” Freya plopped onto the bed next to Eric. “My gut is urging me to kill them.”

  Eric grinned. “I thought you had seen enough bloodshed.”

  “So did I, but maybe I can make an exception. I don’t want to be soup.”

  They both smiled from exhaustion.

  “You are mental,” Eric said, wrapping an arm around her.

  Suddenly, the floor began to tremble. When the room started to shake, a massive blast rang out and echoed loudly in their ears. Just before a second explosion, they dove onto the floor and covered their heads, bracing for a dreadful impact which shook them to the bone.

  CHAPTER 9

  ORIGINS

  A
t night, after we found shelter in a small cave high in the mountains, Jonathan, my adoptive father, took out his Ancient Civilizations book from an inside coat pocket. Our hunting trip had not gone to plan as our main activities ended up being hiking and long conversations.

  The people of the Armada were not savages as I initially judged them. Jonathan and Alicia had proved quite knowledgeable.

  “I’ll read more about the Greeks,” Jonathan said as he leafed through the worn book inherited from his father. The cover had been patched and glued multiple times. The pages inside were faded yellow and marked up with notes written in gray, red and blue pencil.

  I was completely ignorant of Earth history before the alien invasion, so I was always eager to hear Jonathan read from his history books.

  The battle waged in Marathon in 490 B.C. was the start of the Greco-Persian Wars. Athenian general Miltiades employed a successful strategy in which he weakened the center of his force to strengthen its wings, causing confusion among the Persians. The victory of the Greeks at Marathon was forever preserved with the tale of the messenger running twenty-five miles to Athens to deliver the news of the victory, which eventually led to the creation of the modern marathon run.

  Jonathan stopped to take a sip of water from his canteen.

  “Human history is filled with violence,” I said, which was as much a question as an assertion.

  “True, but not just that,” Jonathan said, smiling. “Peace doesn’t get many pages in history books. History is a record of the collective struggle of humans for betterment and understanding. Struggle is not pretty at first, but can yield something finer in the end. Be slow to judge what you haven’t experienced.”

  Sleep came soft and untroubled that night. For the first time, I allowed my body and spirit to surrender to Morpheus the moment my eyes closed. Even in my sleep, I could feel Jonathan’s protective presence by my side as the crackling fire became a fading lullaby.

  Life is layered and meaningful even in an enslaved world. I did not need Nalok’s occasional instructions, nor did I need to hear the distressing messages brought by his guards every few months.

  Jonathan was all the father I needed, the father I chose.

  In one of his messages, Nalok revealed a dark secret, one I will never be able to get past. He had killed a random boy to protect me, an innocent child sacrificed to convince Eldaria I was dead.

  This dreadful fact joined another I can never forget. Two other sons of Nalok, my would-be brothers, had died before I was born. Almost certainly Eldaria was responsible for their deaths.

  I hated myself and my father and my sister. Death follows us. If we come into your realm, run. We bring only darkness.

  That night in the humid mountain cave, listening to Jonathan unravel the mysteries and wonders of Ancient Greece, I sided with life.

  Heading for the village at the break of dawn, Jonathan shared a story about his own father taking him on a hunting trip, a dark story.

  His father led him to a campsite just after dusk. Before they had even built a fire, a band of thieves arrived. They were merry and drunk but intended to take everything they had, including their lives. His father was killed buying time so that Jonathan could flee.

  The story ended as abruptly as his father’s life had. The weight of a terrible sadness shadowed Jonathan’s eyes.

  “Please don’t die, father,” I told him. “Not for many years.”

  Jonathan messed up my hair. “Nobody knows their fate,” he said. “We only know our feet reach the ground and carry us forward.”

  Alicia, my mother, welcomed us back with a vegetable stew on the fire and a hug as certain as the air we breathed. For the past few months, we had settled in a semi-permanent location and my father had been able to build a little house of mud.

  “Did you have a good time?” she asked. “Did dad talk your ears off?”

  “If he did, how could I even hear that question?” I said. “We also did not have much luck hunting.”

  “We’ll try again tomorrow,” Jonathan rushed to say, hoping Alicia would not reprimand them. Too late.

  “Perhaps you’d have more luck if the animals could not hear voices from a mile away,” she suggested.

  “How else will all the beasts learn about ancient Greece?” I joked.

  Most of the village women were outside with the children, preparing for the festival of the northward equinox, gathering flowers and seeds. As Alicia watched it all through the window, her golden hair glistened with sunlight.

  I set my hand on her shoulder, but for the first time my tenderness did not make her smile. Instead, her features hardened.

  “Eric, run out the back,” she yelled as she grabbed Jonathan’s hand to pull him to the window next to her.

  Jonathan suddenly became pale. “Hurry, Eric,” he said. “Run to the shelter on the mountain. Don’t look back.”

  I don’t know why, but I did what they said. I was an obedient son. I believed they knew best. It never crossed my mind I might be abandoning them in a time of crisis.

  The path to the shelter was steep and narrow, but I ran like the wind, unbothered by the sharp gravel and exposed roots under my bare feet. As I neared the hidden trail that led through dense vegetation to my father’s emergency shelter, a rising gloom stopped me cold. I turned back, slowly, to behold the devastating panorama below.

  Equal parts fear and fury filled my chest. The village was overrun by Sliman soldiers clad in black. They did not have the look of Sliman guards. They were undisciplined, savage and enthusiastic. They reveled in the killing—the bloodier the better. It was obvious they were trained to be more than just killing machines, they were trained to enjoy their work.

  The village tents and huts were set ablaze, one by one, as villagers fell to their knees to watch the last of their worldly goods crumble to ash. The mission seemed clear. The Sliman were to kill the fighters, destroy the village and take the rest as prisoners.

  Suddenly a flicker of hope coursed through my veins. A handful of men appeared behind a tree line beyond the village. I could see them clearly from my vantage point, but the Sliman could not. I recognized them all, even from that distance. They were friends of my father who had left with us the day before to hunt. When we went east, they had gone west to hunt the big prey.

  The returning hunters dashed behind a row of tumbleweeds just outside the village to the west. They clutched their knives and crossbows. One of them carried a flamethrower that had been recently recovered from the ruins of a destroyed military facility.

  The Sliman stopped in their tracks. It’s as if they all sniffed out the threat at the same time, like they had a single mind. The village men hesitated to attack and now the element of surprise had been lost.

  The man with the flamethrower stepped forward first, unleashing hell on the Sliman who ran at him. Their black cloaks and hoods ignited in flames.

  The flames in no way slowed the hungry beasts. The smell of their own burning flesh only invigorated their ferocity. We didn’t know it yet, but a new mutation had made Sliman skin more resilient to the hot and the cold. Their fortified hides also stopped bullets and absorbed some pulse blasts.

  The biggest Sliman walked through a blazing stream of fire to the man with the flamethrower. He grabbed the villager and snapped his neck as easily as if it were a twig.

  The Sliman tossed the dead man aside and shouted an order. His men produced magnetic blades as they charged the remaining hunters, slashing and carving away at tender human flesh and bones.

  My heart came to a halt. I ran down to the village as fast as I could, the brutal scene below whipping me into a frenzy. I weaved through the burning tents, screaming at the top of my lungs. My swollen hands pulsated.

  The mortal terror of wailing children disorientated me long enough for the Sliman leader to sense me. He leaped into my path like a hound from hell.

  I spun low to evade his knife, then landed a double-fisted blow of my own on the back of his neck. Th
e Sliman groaned, dazed by the unlikely speed and force of my strike.

  My parents tried to fight through the bloody chaos to join me. Blood pounded viciously in my head. Energy streamed out of me, producing an electric current that enveloped the last structures that still stood. The electromagnetic field grew bigger and fiercer than I could fathom.

  I spread my arms and leaned forward in an effort to contain the unruly power that consumed my arms and hands. Underneath my feet, the earth shook. My body began to hum like I was about to explode. The energy spilled out of my hands. I had no control.

  The multi-colored currents expanded above my head. I concentrated until my skull ached before the spilled energies imploded. Instinctively, I hurled a purple shield around me and as many nearby people as possible.

  Everything detonated at once. All the world was ringing. The mushroom-like explosion skipped over my shield and tore through Sliman flesh while blowing up what was left of the village.

  I stood stunned as the few bewildered villagers I had managed to protect staggered on their feet. The Sliman were dead. So were most of my people… including children… including my parents. My mother’s face had been erased by fire, my fire. My father’s lifeless arm wrapped casually around her shoulder like they had fallen asleep while in an embrace.

  I ran. It’s all I could think to do. I wanted to run forever, until my skin fell from my bones, until I disappeared into another universe. I put my head down and I ran and I kept running, for years. I should have never stopped.

  CHAPTER 10

  ERIC

  Zarok paced back and forth in the commander’s dimly lit private office. He took breaths rhythmically, trying to calm down. “We did not foresee those savages entering your solar system so quickly,” he said, stopping to stare through a round window and shake his head.

  Outside, the dark was lit up by a relentless assault on the cargosphere.

  “The Merdigor command are fully aware our shields cannot be penetrated,” Zarok said. “They are too far away from base, but their full-on offensive barrage is meant to distract us and make us lose time in fear.”