Rise of Aen (41 page)

A sigh of frustration signalled that her intuition had been right followed. Her “attacker” was her long-time guardian, protector, and closest thing she had ever had to a
friend.

“Once again, your senses are exemplary, my liege.” He said in his low, booming voice. Any other room on the ship and the massive hulk of the J’Karin would have cast an eclipse like shadow over her. But even with his enormous size, he was stealthier than any of the Guild’s ghostly assassins, and ten times more
dangerous!

“You, my friend are kind of hard to
miss.”

“Ouch! My feelings might be hurt!” he
chuckled.

“Oh?” she asked playfully. “You have those? And here all this time I thought your thick skin prevented such softness.” Her relationship with him was the main grounding point for her; it kept her sanity in the chaotic life she held. If she seemed to be getting too full of herself and out of hand, Bryx would bring her back down from her perch; in a subtle way of
course!

“What brings you into my chambers?” she
asked.

“I was worried,” he replied. “It has been over a day since you isolated yourself to communicate with that...creature. I came to check on you to make sure it didn’t harm you in any way.” His disdain was plainly
apparent.

Rising slowly and gracefully, Iana turned to her companion and simply smiled, ignoring his jabs at Aen—he didn’t trust anything he didn’t know. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself, or shall I give you a reminder of that
fact?”

The mammoth being hung his head in respect, silently apologizing for his overstep. His instincts were keen though, as every encounter with Aen drained her more than the last. His very essence seemed to scratch and claw at hers every time she reached out to
him!

“What do we know about this whelp? I mean, other than his intrusion into the Council meetings he is a veritable unknown. Are you sure this is the one the prophets speak of?” His grumpiness had turned into true concern. He too knew of the rarely spoken words of the prophets on this matter, but he seemed unconvinced they could be
true.

“With my whole heart I am certain it is him.” She replied with the largest of smiles as she tried to reassure her nervous friend. “And with him I see a new future opening to us all. Terra Sol will bring growth creatively and culturally to our lives, something we all should celebrate and
cherish.”

Bryx looked back at her with concern, clearly unhappy with her words. “You didn’t answer me. If it is him, how do we know he won’t be the death of us all, or do you choose not to remember the rest of the
writings?”

Iana reached up and ran her hand on the monster’s cheek. A look of sadness came over her, as it was a concern she had been holding back on. It was true that the prophecy told of a future with him standing in place of her, his hand being that which darkens her light. “Life holds many possibilities for us Bryx, and if that is my future, then so be it. But I see a different path for this one, his soul has so much depth to it I nearly drown each time I peer into it. For now, his path is tied to that of Terra Sol and beyond that lay only questions. Destiny rarely asks for our permission to come around; it only asks that we understand it when it is our time to step aside. There is greatness in him, Bryx, I only hope we live to see him realize
it.”

Himalayan Mountains, Mount Kailash, Tibet -
Two Days, Six Hours since Arrival

The days had gone by quietly on the mountain ridge camp, with few incidents to warrant any excitement. Only a nearby pass of an alien warship caused a stir of panic, but it flew by without noticing them. Whatever barriers the monks had installed around the encampment had made them invisible to the threat of attack. So life went on for the people huddled here, and they watched eagerly while the world turned upside
down.

Life as Sara remembered it was gone, and what life she may have when this was over was truly incomprehensible at the moment, with the outcome of all this undecided. In fact, it was this unknown hanging over them all that added an air of tension to the small colony. Here they were safe, but for how long and what would be left for them when it was over remained
unanswered.

It had been two days since the sky to the west had lit up brilliantly; two days since humanity started to fight back. In that time the few news feeds still reporting told of small and inspiring victories along with tragic and crushing defeats. None were more staggering then the news from Moscow of the horrible loss of life, including the loss of the best weapon humanity had:
Aen.

Sara struggled with the news from the second she heard it—Aen was dead. Her heart sank immediately as she longed to find some sort of flaw in the reports to prove them wrong. Then she saw the footage. It was transmitted live before cutting out from the cataclysmic blast that killed and destroyed the entire Russian capitol, but before it did it showed Aen’s heroic last act and the enormous fire that engulfed him afterwards. Nothing could have survived that, not even
him.

The entire room had turned to the monks who had no answers to soothe their frayed nerves for they too had watched the bright hope of humanity fall. So much was going on, so much had gone wrong. And the one question on all their minds—the one that the monks always failed to answer quickly—was where was the help they were
promised?

Sara left the group huddled around the TV and wandered outside, slowly making her way to the perch above the camp to find some solace; her mind racing through the awful news. Her reporter instincts had begun to kick in and she wanted to know more; craved more information on what happened after the cameras were destroyed. The only answers had come from a brief satellite image of a smouldering crater near the center of a now barren wasteland. Moscow—and all her inhabitants—were
gone!

Her body was on automatic, her mind obviously elsewhere as she pushed through the brush to her destination. Branches scratched at her skin, scraping and cutting her arms and face, but she didn’t react to them at all. For the first time since this all started, Sara felt alone and helpless and it reverted her to a state like when her father had been killed. Her mind was frozen, locked in a confused and frantic state. Somewhere inside, she knew it was never going to go to plan; she knew that the odds were so stacked against humanity to even stay in this fight long enough for the Lyarrans to arrive. The fact that Aen was there was a wild card, but still a meagre force to go up against an advanced alien race. And now he was gone, leaving nothing to stand between them and
annihilation.

But hope was a funny thing, and something inside Sara told her that they hadn’t lost yet. A feeling, deep inside the core of her being was screaming to stay positive, and by the time she had reached the small cliff there was a small smile on her face. With all the losses suffered in the last few days, they were still here and that was saying a lot. Sara knew of the other encampments the monks had created, and knew they too were hidden from the aliens as well as she knew they hadn’t yet been able to drop the collection vessels due to massive resistance every time they tried. Just this morning a drop ship cruised along the western coast of Africa and was subsequently destroyed by a submarine’s missiles before it submerged into the depths once more. Humanity wasn’t done yet—not by a
longshot!

Along with the crippling of the alien mother ship by the secret weapon in the desert, hope was abundant and even rampant amongst the survivors of the first two days. Day three had opened with a mighty swing of momentum and now they had to fight tooth and nail to keep it on their side. Sara knew there was little she could do—reporters had little use in a time like this and even if she decided to do some reporting from here, she feared that it might give away their secret location to the Husk and risk the lives of all hidden here. So she sat tight and waited and like everyone else she kept hoping that today would continue to be the push towards
victory.

Groom Lake Military Installation –
Code Name Area 51, Nevada -
Two Days Six Hours since Arrival

In the moments after the Husk ship was struck by the Thunderwell rounds, the aliens were disorganized and more than a bit lost. Drop ships and cruisers just hung in the air, motionless, waiting for direction as they were cut off from the hive mind above. Infantry kept fighting with the human military forces, but lacked organization and the focused ferocity of earlier fights. Indeed the obscure weapon had proved to be effective, but there was no way it would work a second time. Now the Earth forces started to push back hard, now was the time to cause some kind of losses to the enemy while they still
could.

Patterson sent a flurry of orders to carry out attacks all over the world, all the while watching the clock on the wall. He figured they had little more than an hour to hit the Husk hard while they were down before they could regain some composure and resume their attack. It was a gamble, but one that needed to be
taken.

All those in the war room in the Nevada Desert scurried about trying to carry out the tasks at hand while there was still time. The Naval forces had been moving since yesterday from their hiding spots around the globe and began to engage the enemy on all fronts. Battle groups inland had been reinforced mightily with whatever was needed to push the Husk backwards. Jets and bombers were inbound on stationary cruisers and ships to inflict the most damage possible while they still could. It was an all or nothing push—this was the point of no
return.

Reports began to trickle in as measures of success were being achieved. Bombers damaged the sleeping cruisers, the army began to push back the west coast advance, and the Navy began to deter the east coast forces from gaining a foothold. Similar reports also came in from around the globe; an hour had passed since the massive ship overhead had gone offline and everything was going well. Thoughts that maybe the Husk ship was dead and just drifting began to creep into Patterson’s mind; maybe this was the beginning of the end and humanity had held its own. As the minutes ticked by those thoughts became stronger and stronger. Just as he was about to think these thoughts were a reality, Patterson saw the sleeping ship move—time was
up!

Angrily, the Harvester spun itself to face the planet nose-on once more and opened fire with its point-of-defense weapons. While not the damage inducing nightmare the main cannon was, the plasma turrets belched out a hot, hellish rain of white hot plasma on the east coast. As the ship turned, so did the destructive rain as it burned from Halifax down to Miami. Cruisers began to let loose barrages of plasma as well and ground infantry advanced with no mercy; the Husk were angry and began to reassert their dominance. Patterson’s heart sunk—this was truly the beginning of the end, but not for victory for
humanity.

Satellite images showed retreats on all fronts—though none were ordered—as the Husk hit and hit hard. Front lines were obliterated in seconds, despite the heavy battlements used to reinforce them. Cities burned and ash fell from the sky; the proverbial doomsday was upon them. The long-time soldier sighed and wondered if it was indeed time to throw in the towel. Around him, the bustling room was now silent as all looked to him for orders. Patterson had no answers—in truth, he wanted to look to someone else
too.

At the exact moment he was about to order a complete withdrawal to the jungles and wilderness areas, the radio crackled that had been lost due to the EMP crackled to life. It was a soft, but stern voice that eventually rose over the static, but it spoke in a language no one could understand. It repeated the same thing twice before the voice let out a frustrated sigh, then silence. Everyone, including Patterson, gathered around the radio and anxiously waited for something more. The minutes ticked by quietly; in a time of desperation this silence was agonizing. Then came a high pitched whistle that backed everyone off a bit as their ears rang from the interference. After the whistle died, the voice returned and spoke in fractured
English.

“Command of Terra Sol, this is the Dark Light of Lyarran Empire. Do you require
assistance?”

Momentum is a funny thing; right when you think it is lost, it swings back to you once
more.

Moscow, Russia - Two Days, Eighteen Hours since Arrival

Aen awoke slowly, but as he attempted to open his eyes he realized there was nothing to see. He was buried under dirt and debris; obviously still at the bottom of the blast crater which was once Moscow. His whole body ached, but the cold soil soothed the burning that was the reforming of his skin blown apart by the plasma meteor that hit him dead on. Aen was alive, but he certainly didn’t feel like
it.

It was an odd feeling, being buried alive, one that he figured would strike a lot more fear in him then it did. But recent events made something like this seem like a trip to an amusement park. So instead of panic, Aen actually chuckled; the situation was as unique as could be and there was no telling how deep he was buried so digging his way out of his makeshift grave like a Hollywood zombie was out of the question. So he decided to move himself to the main deck of the
Amarra.

Concentrating, he felt his heart race and his body reacted by pushing back with huge amounts of pain that coursed through his tattered frame. For the first time since his rebirth, the process was actually a difficult one. Inside his mind, he reached down deep to push aside the flowing river of agony, making a mental dam so he could shed his surroundings and leave his failure behind. It took a great deal of effort, but at last he felt the power surge in his chest and bathe him in its wash. With a tremendous flash—amplified by the fact he was in the dark underground—he vanished. The basin of the crater above bulged, then collapsed, as the soil beneath was vacated by its prized possession and small tendrils of smoke and dust arose. To anyone looking from above, it looked as though the ground had shifted and nothing
more.