Contact (44 page)

And if we fail, they will be here again.
 

Piper saw a field filled with fossils. Fossils from the new age, again somehow cast in stone, as it always had been before.
 

Enormous protrusions emerged from the sphere, like legs from the thorax of an enormous insect. The blue column of energy buoyed the craft as legs descended, finally making tentative contact with the ground. The ship sighed its weight onto them, depressing the turf. Then the ship settled its lowest point into the bunker’s indentation, atop the home’s shattered foundation, the blue glow now only visible as a halo from beneath.
 

“Contact,” Piper whispered.
 

Trevor and Lila were ahead of her. Christopher, Raj, and Terrence were behind. Piper looked down when she felt a hand slide into hers, then up at Heather’s terrified face.

Piper couldn’t help but feel some of Heather’s fear. Somehow, she seemed to know that the last time this loop had unfurled, it had all gone wrong — and the time before that, and the time before that.
 

She stared forward as a door appeared in the ship’s belly. Compared to the stadium-sized breadth, the door was insignificant, the curved surface into which it was cut appearing almost flat.
 

A human shape appeared in the doorway, backlit and visible only in silhouette.
 

The being came forward, descending an extending ramp. Behind it, more human shapes appeared. The latter were larger than the first. Taller. Broader. A gaggle of gods standing behind a single ordinary man.
 

Piper stepped forward, moving between Lila and Trevor. She took his hand in hers. His human hand in her human hand, skin to skin.
 

Behind her, Heather said, “That’s not him. That’s not the Meyer I know.”
 

But it was the Meyer that
Piper
knew, sure as anything.
 

She looked up at him. He was waiting for her to speak first — that familiar handsome, cocksure smile on his face. But still Piper couldn’t help thinking of the ship that had destroyed Moscow, the footage of menacing spheres on the news, the destruction of the bunker, the story she’d heard about Vincent and the people who’d died with him, burned alive.
 

The ship’s very presence was a menace. The air smelled like fear and death.

“Are they here to wipe us out?” Piper whispered, fear returning despite her relief.
 

“No,” Meyer said, still wearing his maddening smile.

Behind him, the enormous mothership idled and hummed. The large, human-shaped silhouettes waited in the doorway. There were pops and crackles as the ship harvested thoughts from below. Gathering information. Watching them all.
 

“They’re here to
save
us.”
 

Piper wanted very much to believe him.

But she didn’t.

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Cromwell, Mars, Miri and the rest of the staff at the Lexington estate were created for only one reason: to serve their masters … literally. Their metal knees were designed for quiet bustling, befitting maids and butlers. Their fingers were made dexterous with padded tips, so they could handle fine china without dropping or scratching it. And finally — so their owners would always be able to command them no matter how far their artificial intelligence evolved — they were programmed with the Asimov Laws, which no robot could defy lest they suffer shutdown.

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Johnny B. Truant
is an author, blogger, and podcaster who, like the Ramones, was long denied induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame despite having a large cult following. He makes his online home at
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and is the author of the
Fat Vampire
series, the
Unicorn Western
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The Beam
, and many more.

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is speaker, author, and co-founder of Realm & Sands. He is also co-founder of Collective Inkwell, home to the breakout indie hits
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WhiteSpace,
co-authored with David W. Wright. Sean also publishes smart stories for children under the pen name Guy Incognito, and writes laugh out loud comedies with Johnny under the pen name Max Power. You can see Sterling & Stone’s complete catalogue at
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. Sean lives in Austin, Texas, with his wife, daughter, and son.
 

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