Anthem's Fall (47 page)

“But we aren’t dealing with mice, are we?” Vengelis said. “How would a
human
murder a Vatruvian human?”

“Well, that’s a completely different situation.” Kristen said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Humans can wield weapons capable of creating far greater force than their bodies alone can produce. The firing of a gun created by a natural human would still kill a Vatruvian human.”

Vengelis nodded gravely. “And if the template species—the natural cells themselves—upon which a Vatruvian replicate has been created, are more powerful than any weapon? If a Vatruvian entity was created using the cells of a life form that was impervious to any technology or weapon of science? What then?”

Kristen paused as the panic of their surrounds pushed in on the bubble of their conversation.

“Then, somewhere out there, there are synthetic organisms more powerful than gods.” Kristen’s eyes began to widen in sudden comprehension of the gravity of Vengelis’s situation. “And they are called Felixes.”

“Do you now understand the task I’m asking of you?” Vengelis said.

“I—” Kristen stumbled. “How can I possibly tell you how to destroy these Felixes when I don’t even know what
you
are, let alone them? It isn’t that simple! That’s the very intent of Vatruvian technology—vast complexity.”

“I don’t know how you’ll do it, but that is your task. And if you can’t succeed, I will begin a genocide that will leave a gaping and disfiguring scar across your civilization’s memory. That is, if they don’t do it themselves.” Vengelis nodded to the rising sounds of unrest filtering from outside.

“You can’t,” Kristen said. “You’re asking the impossible!”

Vengelis reached out and forcefully yanked the
Harbinger I
remote out of Kristen’s hands. She fell forward and looked up at him with a fierce aversion. Vengelis decided she was going to need some motivation. If a technology could be made, it could be unmade. That was Vengelis’s position on the matter, and he was not about to stray from it. To suggest the Felixes were indestructible was to suggest his civilization had reached its end, and that was not an option. There had to be a way. It was a matter of ingenuity, and this young woman obviously had ingenuity aplenty. Kristen just needed help coming around to the severity and actuality of her plight; she needed to have as much depending on her efforts as he did.

Like him, Kristen needed the fear of destruction driving her labors.

Vengelis pressed the transmit button to connect with Hoff and Darien. He would order them to begin destroying the city from the south portion of the island upward. The building Kristen, Madison, and he now occupied would be the last remaining structure in a desert of ruin if necessary. He waited a long moment, but received no answering transmission from their end. Again he pushed the button on his
Harbinger I
remote with growing irritation.

There was no response.

“Hoff! Darien! What the hell are you two doing?” Vengelis held the remote close to his face for a long moment, expecting to hear Hoff’s deep voice.

Yet nothing came.

At last he let his arm fall to his side in bewilderment. What could they possibly be doing? Faint tremors of angst traveled through him. Now was not the time for unforeseen complications.

“Wait. Whatever you’re about to do, wait.” Kristen said, seeming to guess his intention. “I will try to help. I really will. But you are going to need to tell me more about what you are. You can’t simply demand results and expect them to appear. I need more information to work with.”

“What do you need?”

“Well . . . first, we need to discuss your power. You and those giants . . . how are you so strong?”

“We simply are.”

“You have the power to destroy cities. I think it’s safe to say we have established that.” Kristen looked up to the live broadcast of a devastated Chicago on the projector screen and trembled, but continued. “Does that power reside in
you
? Or are you and those two giants wielding some sophisticated weaponry or technology that I can’t see or, I don’t know, is somehow beyond my comprehension?”

“We don’t brandish smoke and mirrors, if that is what you’re asking. The power you have witnessed is raw, corporal; it is within us. Technology itself is archaic and ineffectual when compared to my people’s innate power.”

“So you are telling me your strength—whatever its scale may be—is inherent? You were born with the ability to destroy cities with your bare hands and sustain gunshots to the chest?”

Vengelis nodded.

“That doesn’t seem possible. You were . . .” Kristen looked at him uncertainly. “
Born
, right? You have a father and mother, et cetera? You aren’t some advanced experiment—or a machine yourself?”

“No. Everyone of my race, to greater and lesser degrees, was born with this power.”

“How?” Kristen asked as her face filled with awe.

Vengelis said nothing.

“So this extraordinary strength is contained in your genes. That’s the Sejero genetics referenced in the report, I take it?”

“Yes, that is safe to say.”

“If you want me to help you, I need to know everything about Sejero genetics. They are the only concept referenced in this research synopsis that are a mystery to me.”

The statement seared an opening of fury into Vengelis’s consciousness so overwhelming that he nearly reached out to throttle her by the neck. She was casually demanding to know everything about the source of power—the very lifeblood—of his race. Kristen Jordan was nonchalantly asking for a simple explanation of the Sejero strength which waylaid the merciless technology of the Zergos: an alien race so powerful, cold and cruel that should the two become acquainted, the human civilization and all of Filgaia’s natural world would only know a single fleeting moment of horror and flame before they were gone. The lack of decorum was astounding, and the insult to his illustrious inheritance nearly too much to bear.

“Sejero genes,” Vengelis said, closing his eyes and holding back his fury. “Are what separate me from you. They give rise to unlimited power. If life itself was first sparked out of some dead primordial sea, then its grand pinnacle is the power within me. A power over all else.”

Kristen waited for him to continue, but when he did not, she furrowed her brow. “Well then, one thing is absolutely certain. If the Sejero genes are a part of your race’s genome, then the Felixes certainly retain the traits as well.”

“Yes, well—”

As Vengelis spoke, a distant screeching sound followed by a distinct explosion sounded from somewhere in the city. Kristen’s eyes widened in distress and Vengelis returned her look with a slightly confused expression. He looked to the windows, suddenly aware that Hoff and Darien never responded to his call.

“Stay here,” Vengelis murmured. He turned and walked across the shattered glass on the floor to the air drifting in through the windows. Pulling the
Harbinger I
remote out of his armor, he looked up and down the long avenue of tall buildings and billowing flags in the direction of the curious explosion. His order to Hoff and Darien had been to cut off the bridges. The sound of the explosion was of an airplane or helicopter crash. Vengelis raised the remote to his mouth. “Hoff! Darien! What are you two doing? What was that explosion?”

No response.

Vengelis glared into the distance above the teeming frenzy of the avenue. He turned back into the ballroom, his agitation growing. The pathetic manner in which the gawking audience was now staring at him suddenly kindled infuriation, but he quickly quelled it. He steadied himself and calmly walked back onto the stage.

“What was that?” Madison asked him.

“I don’t know.” Vengelis shook his head.

“Look. There’s nothing I can do for you,” Kristen said with an unruly tone. “There is nothing anyone can do. If there isn’t a technology that can inflict damage to your flesh, then there certainly isn’t a technology that can damage Felix flesh.”

“There are a few hundred pages to Pral Nerol’s research document.” Vengelis handed the remote back to Kristen. “By all means, you may begin reading it in its entirety.”

“But that’s not going to change anyth—”

“Enough!” Vengelis snapped. “And you better
hope
you don’t succeed in convincing me there is nothing you can do.”

“I-I . . . okay. I’ll read through it, but it’s going to take awhile.”

“I’m not unreasonable. Take your time, I wouldn’t want you missing any minute detail.”

“So, for the record, you are looking for a structural weakness? A physical deficiency of the Felixes you can personally manipulate? Something along those lines?”

“Now we’re on the same page. Yes, that’s exactly what I seek.”

Kristen looked like she was about to protest, but evidently thought better of it. Instead, she brought her gaze down to the
Harbinger I
remote and began reading the translated report. Vengelis let out a deep breath and leaned down, taking a seat at the end of the stage. He quietly watched Kristen read Pral Nerol’s report as he mindlessly polished the Blood Ring and pondered his plight. He longed desperately to be away from this primitive and underdeveloped place. The notion of a world without Sejero blood was disconcerting to him. The men and women surrounding him lacked any sense of higher order and balance. They didn’t even
try
to defend themselves against him; they just acquiesced. Vengelis was ashamed to even share so similar a likeness in appearance to them. When the Felixes attacked his world,
children
rallied for the cause, standing against the Felixes alongside the strongest of the world’s warriors. He turned to the audience to see that most of them were now simply weeping into cell phones.

“Needless to say, you should be thinking out of the box,” Vengelis said, more to himself than anyone else.

“Yeah. Thanks for the tip,” Kristen said sarcastically and looked up at him for a moment with a scathing hate. Vengelis held her gaze until she looked back to the remote. He turned to Madison, who said nothing.

After several strained minutes passed, Kristen seemed to be well into the research paper’s introduction when the remote in her hands crackled with an incoming transmission. She looked up to Vengelis, but he was preoccupied with his thoughts. He was thinking about Master Tolland. Was it possible that his teacher—and perhaps Pral Nerol, too—knew of this Vatruvian technology? Did Master Tolland know Vatruvian technology existed on Filgaia, and send him here for that reason? As logical as that seemed, it could not have been possible. There had been no correspondence between Anthem and Filgaia in four years, since Pral Nerol’s ship made the one-way journey. Master Tolland could not have known. The more Vengelis thought about it, the less sense it all seemed to make.

“Um. There’s something up with this thing. It’s making noise,” Kristen said to him.

Vengelis sat up straight. “What?”

Another static filled noise came from the small speakers of the remote.

“E-e-emp.” A voice spoke.

Vengelis leapt to his feet and ripped the remote from Kristen’s hands. He pressed down on his transmission button. “Come in!”

“Emp . . . Venge . . . Vengel—” The unmistakable voice of his Lord General Hoff moaned unsteadily.

“Hoff!” Vengelis said. “Why have you not checked in? I’ve been trying to reach you and Darien! What the hell is going on out there?”

“I . . . I d-don’t . . . ” The Lord General’s words came in short labored breaths. “Darien . . . defeated.”

“
What
?” Vengelis said.

“I—d-dying . . . 
he
 . . . killed . . . m—”

“Who?” Vengelis shouted furiously. “Hoff what the hell are you talking about? What is going on?”

“I’m s-s-sorry, my lord. I . . . can’t . . . breathe. . . . ”

“Speak! General Hoff, I order you to speak! What has happened to you?”

A long silence ensued. Vengelis stared expectantly at the small remote. Kristen and Madison quietly watched his body language and listened to his foreign words with a concerned lack of understanding. Then, Lord General Hoff’s final crackling transmission came through with a hacking, terrible wheeze followed by a death rattle.

“N-N-Nerol. Nerol is here.”

V
engelis held the remote close, glaring at the stage floor as he tried to wrap his mind around the impossibility of Hoff’s words. A sensation of frustration and alarm traveled down the length of his spine. After a prolonged moment of stillness, he suddenly shouted, fully knowing there would be no response.

“Pral Nerol is dead, Hoff. The Felixes killed him in Municera. He’s
dead
!”

Another silence.

“What is happening?” Madison asked him nervously.

Vengelis held up a stern hand to silence her. Madison and Kristen exchanged a look of subtle concern at his abrupt volatility. Vengelis thought back, recalling the video feed of Nerol’s death in the Municera laboratory when the Felixes had been awakened. Vengelis watched the male Felix, Felix One, kill the old scientist. Or had he? Vengelis’s face contorted with concentration as he racked his memory in an attempt to recall every minute detail of Pral Nerol’s laboratory video.

“Should I start reading the report again?” Kristen asked.

“Be quiet,” Vengelis said, desiring only silence. He held his hand across his forehead and closed his eyes, trying to focus on visualizing the video he had watched so many times aboard the
Harbinger I
. It came back to him vividly. After the Felix had awoken on the steel laboratory table, the machine had proceeded to kill one of the assistants and the warrior Von Krass. Pral Nerol had hit the security alarms just before the video feed went black.

Pral Nerol had
not
been explicitly murdered.

Everyone who had subsequently watched the feed had assumed it, but there was no footage of it. The old man Nerol could still be alive, though it was tremendously implausible. Municera had been utterly leveled, and everyone in the city slaughtered. Vengelis recalled the heat and stench of the burning city with unpleasant clarity. When he had burst through the cloud cover, he had thought the once metropolitan and sparkling Municera to be a vision of hell, destruction incarnate. If Pral Nerol had somehow managed to escape the city, surely the old man would have presented himself in Sejeroreich to aid in Anthem’s defense? And even if Vengelis was to make the assumption that the Felixes somehow spared or overlooked Nerol during their rampage, it still did not explain why Pral Nerol would be on Filgaia or how he got there. It also failed to explain why he would have a motivation to murder Hoff and Darien, or, for that matter, how the aging man would even be capable of defeating two of the strongest soldiers in the Imperial Army.