Paul Hughes - Enemy

((so do i, but it must be done.))

“Wake them up from their heavens, Simon. Wake them all up.”

The vessels sped on.

Deep within the Judas vessels, an ancient process began anew.

Valves opened. Atmosphere was pumped into chambers where lights flickered, brightened. Heating units began to discharge warmth. Artificial gravity was restored.

Hidden servos whirred; pneumatics pressurized.

In the vast expanse of chambers, the vessel decoded the genetic patterns of thousands of beings from precious files stored for centuries aboard the Judas and began the recreation process. From the base elements of the galaxy, in a primordial stew of nutrient-rich liquid, the vessel stimulated the formation of molecules, DNA strands, cells, tissue, organs, organisms. The vessel vastly sped up the growing process, and within minutes it had created thousands of perfectly viable organisms in the expanse of stasis chambers, reconstituting from ancient binary code the uploaded consciousnesses of the beings that were the Judas.

On the surface of the spherical room, doors slid open. From within, a ghostly steam emerged.

The Judas sentiences began to monitor, probe, analyze, assess the contents of these compartments.

A favorable judgment reached, the next step was taken.

Hydraulic systems lifted the contents out.

In the massive spherical chamber, two thousand sleeping humans lay on elevated platforms, the effects of their rebirth after centuries of emulated hibernation wearing off.

They were the pawns in the chess match of eternity.

Santa Fosca.

Reynald walked on the beach, arms outstretched.

He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, to let his rage shatter the very sky above him.

He fell to his knees, fists covering his eyes, body wracked in silent sobs.

All the pain…

The responsibility rested with him, now that Magdalene was dead. The symbol of her end, a dissipating mushroom cloud, scarred the horizon to the north.

These poor, blind people.

He kneeled in the shadow of the Enemy.

The Enemy shard stood before him, like an accusing finger pointed at the sky. The impact crater stretched outwards, the blackened debris of buildings that had been on the island scattered throughout.

He broke.

He ran for the shard, uttering his rage through incomprehensible nonsense. He tore the Judas symbol from his chest, and threw it at the dead Enemy vessel.

“Damn you! DAMN ALL OF YOU!!”

He fell back to his knees, weeping.

“Captain?”

He spun around, his face a grimace of agony, cold eyes flickering between gray and silver, illuminating the tear-wet surface of his wrinkled and scarred face.

“Captain Reynald?”

“They won’t get away with this. Command will not get away with her blood on their hands.”

“No, Captain…Reynald, we’re picking something up on wide-range sensors.”

“Is it Simon?”

“No, sir. It’s a native vessel. A warplane. On a direct approach vector.”

A silver dot formed on the horizon, drew closer.

((droptroops prepped.))

“Take us in.”

The Judas swept into the shadow eclipsing the surface of Phobos. The Enemy hung in the vacuum, unaware of pending execution.

((simon to strike force: engagement on my go.))

They swept closer, unseen.

Zero-Four locked his arms into the interface gauntlets.

“Ready, Simon?”

((always.))

It began.

black

PREPARE TO BREAK MOON ORBIT.

THE THIRD PLANET((?))

YES. IT IS THE RICHEST IN HUMAN RESOURCE.

LUSCIOUS… UPLOAD.

inquisition. suspicion. hatred.

THEY ARE HERE.

THE JUDAS((?))

THE JUDAS.

A CERTAINTY((?))

THEY ARE SHADOWED, BUT THEY ARE HERE. I CAN TASTE THE PRESENCE OF THEIR CONTAGION IN THE PATTERN. THEY SHALL PAY FOR THEIR BLASPHEMY.

INDEED THEY SHALL.

DESTROY THEM.

The Spear tore through the sky at a phenomenal rate. The tiny island of Santa Fosca appeared on the horizon, grew closer as the plane sped towards it.

Jennings sat, watching the elite group of warriors prepare for the landing and capture of the group who had so ruthlessly killed so many Americans. They were the best, part of a detachment of soldiers who had won fame in War Three by capturing the remains of Paris. Now they would storm the island and try to take the terrorists alive, if they could. It would be a formidable task, if the terrorists were Styx.

Jennings and the troop commander looked at the view of the island the long-range cameras presented.

“What the hell is that?”

Something jutted up from the island, a massive, black something. It looked like a piece of…No, that was impossible. It was still buried in the mountains.

“Radiation level?”

“Nothing abnormal.”

So there had not been a thermonuclear attack.

“There they are.”

Seven men stood near the—thing. One was on his knees.

“What are they doing?”

“Watching us. Preparing.”

“They don’t appear to be armed.”

“They wouldn’t have to be if they’re Styx.” The soldier walked to the cabin. “Fly us in low. We’ll drop in on them from above, and the lower machine cannons can give us cover if it comes to that.”

The sleek vessel glided closer to the island, panels on its underside sliding open to reveal heavy machine guns on pivot axes. The plane slowed.

“They aren’t making a move. They can’t be surrendering.”

“With all respect, sir, if I saw a fully-armed Spear coming at me, I’d surrender.”

Below the plane, the seven men waited in silence.

Reynald stood up, his arms outstretched.

“Closer…Come closer.”

The plane continued its approach.

He closed his eyes.

((FIRE!!))

The formation of Judas dove at the Enemy monstrosity orbiting the moon Phobos.

The domain of vision was blinded by the fierce streaks of light that tore from seemingly empty space at the Enemy. The Enemy itself thrust its own hell at the black between the stars, tearing apart three Judas in a flash of fire where seconds before there was only nothingness. The Enemy was overwhelmed by the sheer firepower of the Judas fleet. Beams of light emerged from countless ports on the Enemy’s surface as it tried to fend off the Judas attack. Waves and ripples of energy flew everywhere, blinding with their wake those unfortunate enough to be ensnared in their web.

The game of eternity had begun another round.

At the sight of one of the men on the island in an obvious stance of surrender, arms outstretched, the pilot eased the Spear to earth, all the while with the heavy machine guns trained on the group. The troops on the plane prepared to disembark and surround them.

“I’m going, too,” Jennings said, pulling the gun from its hidden holster beneath his coat. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask these people personally.”

They felt the plane settle on the ground with a gentle bump. The ramp began to descend, and a warm breeze from the ocean bathed the inside of the plane.

Reynald’s outstretched hand began to quiver, and he opened his eyes. His impossibly silver eyes looked up.

His mind lashed out.

There was a dull thud from within the Spear, and a piercing siren began to wail.

“We just lost—everyone out, now! The fuel tanks have been punctured!!”

A flurry of activity. Time seemed to drag to a halt.

Jennings felt himself roughly thrown down the ramp. “Get the president out, now! Shield him!” He was on the sand, bodies above him, when the world became fire and sound. An instant later, the second tank exploded and hot shrapnel embedded itself in his right arm and carved a shallow trench across his forehead.