SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

“Thanks.” Carter grabbed his jacket and was halfway down the hall when he heard shouting. He took the stairs two at a time and burst into reception. A male Zelotyr—a senior, judging by its armour—was cradling the body of a junior, its eyes blank and silvered over.

Carter took a moment, not sure what to say, and raised his eyes to meet the Zelotyr’s, at the same time managing not to look in its maw. It had taken weeks to learn that trick. “What happened?”

“Dying,” said the Zelotyr, in flat, electronic tones.

Carter touched the child, careful to be gentle. “Yes, I see that. I’m sorry—what can I do?”

The Zelotyr owned the hospitals, they controlled what remained of the transport network…there was nothing Carter could offer that they didn’t already have.

“All dying…” The Zelotyr gave the child to Carter and stumbled back. “Dying…”

Carter handed the baby to the receptionist, too quickly for her to realise what it was and refuse. He darted forwards, put a hand on one of the huge arms and nodded at Sanderson to do the same. A look of disgust swept over the sergeant’s face, but he took the other arm and held it firmly.

“Who are dying?” asked Carter, straining to support the alien.

“The Zelotyr. All of us.”

“How?”

The Zelotyr dropped to its knees and cast its eyes between the two policemen. “You must ensure we are avenged.”

It pitched forward, its body emitting a stench like Carter had never smelled before: worse than the sewage the aliens harvested or the mucus oozing through their plating. He covered his mouth, fighting not to gag, and stepped back.

“Sir.” Sanderson pointed at the screen above the reception desk, broadcasting the news. The receptionist had set the baby’s body on her desk and was backed against the filing cabinet, watching the screen, her eyes shining with what looked like tears.

Carter read the words scrolling along the bottom of the screen. It was true: the Zelo were dying. Sanderson’s face cracked into a grin.

“Yes!” said the sergeant. “Someone had the balls to get rid of the shit-eaters. About bloody time.”

“It says it’s happening all over the world,” said the receptionist. The reception filled with officers and station staff. One of the cleaners wrinkled his nose and asked who’d died. Carter winced and tried not to look at the Zelo’s body. On the screen, a spaceship leaving Earth caused someone to start a round of applause, and it spread through the room. A whistle pierced the air and the caretaker jumped onto a chair, punching the air. “Don’t bloody come back!”

There was a cheer, and Carter added his voice to it—he might have had to work with the Zelotyr, but he’d never wanted to. The screen changed, showing their little scene being played out in a darkened Times Square, followed by a snow-covered Russian vista. A human presenter appeared on screen, and the information band along the bottom announced the retreat of the aliens. The picture changed, highlighting the locations—worldwide, filling the screen with red dots—where the poison had already taken effect. It plotted the spread of the virus, showing how it would cover Earth in a maximum of two days. The picture changed to another departing ship; it appeared the aliens weren’t going to wait around. Judging by how fast the alien had died tonight, Carter didn’t blame them.

“They’re gone!” Sanderson’s voice carried over the cheers, reigniting them, and the noise went on for a few minutes before quietening again. Now the initial excitement had passed, it felt strangely flat, like Christmas after dinner, with all the presents opened and the T.V. still crap.

Carter watched for another moment, until the screen started to show repeats of the same pictures. His gaze fell on the body of the baby Zelo, its silver armour—not armour, not yet, more like scales—dulling as the body stiffened.

He turned and pushed open the door to the car park, welcoming the air on his face. The Zelotyr were gone. It was a good thing; the best thing. He tried to regain the excitement, but it felt like icy tentacles were reaching into his stomach.

“Sir?” asked Sanderson, behind him. “Are you okay?” His voice changed, took on an edge of a sneer. “Aren’t you pleased? Earth is free.”

“Is it?” Carter stared at the housing estate opposite. What happened when the residents found out? Or the Barath’na? The second alien race had tried to force the Zelo off the planet when Earthlings were declared sentient. It was one of the reasons the Zelo had started to work in partnership with Earth, to appease the GC and allow them to stay. Carter hadn’t met a Barath’na, but the Zelotyr enmity to them had been openly evident. Whether it was long-standing racial hatred or based on truth, he’d prefer not to find out. He remembered the horror of the Zelotyr attack, the smart mines—there were some still scattered around the city, waiting for poor sods to get close enough to set them off—destroying the city. The last thing they needed was another lot of aliens deciding to try their luck.

Or, for that matter, the first set wanting revenge. His blood chilled; the Zelotyr didn’t have to be on the ground to attack. Last time, the first waves of bombs had come from space.

“Don’t you see?” he said to Sanderson. “We need to find whoever has done this, before it causes another war…”

Sanderson cleared his throat. "About that, sir." He nodded at the station’s barred gate. "You might want to hang around—they’ve lifted a couple of lads."

At the sound of a door closing, Carter turned to face the army sergeant, Peters, who’d brought the two bedraggled lads in. One was sitting in the interview room next door, looking fairly stunned. Carter crossed his arms and leaned against the observation window which dominated the small room. “Well? Ours or yours?”

"Yours." Peters dumped his paperwork on the table in the centre of the room. “It lies under police jurisdiction.” He set a clear bag on the table, and pointed at it. “We thought they were drug running at first.” He lit a cigarette, making Carter cough.

“There’s a smoking ban, you know,” he said.

Peters gave a short laugh. “You want to arrest me?” He leaned back and blew a series of perfect smoke rings at the ceiling. “You know what’s happened to the Zelo. In fact, you probably know more than I do; you’re the shit-lover, right?”

Carter took a deep breath, trying to hide his annoyance. “If you mean I’m the Zelotyr liaison, then yes.”

"Whatever." Peters nodded at the window. "We’re waiting for forensics to confirm what was in that tin, but I’d put money on it being the virus.”

“That’s a hell of a jump—from drug running to xenocide?” Carter turned to the observation window. The lad was sitting on a wooden seat, arms on the table in front, chin resting on them. He looked young, maybe about fifteen, his hair long, falling into his eyes. “He’s just another street kid.”

“You didn’t see his face when he heard the Zelo were dying. Or how sick his friend is. He told us the other lad ingested whatever they released, and he’s ill. Really ill. It doesn’t take a genius to make the link.” Peters walked across, his footsteps loud in the empty room. “Any idea who’ll be behind it?”

“Not him.” Carter thought for a moment. “Locally, there’re a couple of possibilities. When we get confirmation from forensics and know what we’re looking at, I’ll get someone on to it.”

Peters threw down his cigarette, grinding it out, and Carter glared at him. The sergeant ignored him, crossing his arms, muscles standing out against his black t-shirt.

“What will happen to them, if they did release it?” he asked. “I was told you knew the Zelotyr better than anyone.”