Nemesis: Book Six (7 page)

W
ill had waited
until the big guy left, and now his feet pounded against the soft sponge of the strands. His eyes weren't quite slits, but close as he focused on his target. The suit constricted him, slowed him down. He needed more mobility, wanted the freedom to allow his muscles to do what they
needed
to do.

None of that was possible.

So he ran, as fast as the suit would allow, heading straight to Rigley. No one else was in the yard, only her, still sitting there crying.

Will scanned the area quickly, making sure no one had left the house or—God forbid—that nothing was coming from the white fields.

He didn't see anything, so for now, he was still okay.

Twenty yards away, his helmet filled with his hot, humid breath, fogging it up. His feet barely had time to spread the cold as they slammed down. Indeed, strands were starting to grow on his suit, though once there the cold killed them off as it fired its constant attack.

Will knew this on a very base level, but the danger lay in the giant exiting the house.

He barely slowed as he reached Rigley. He simply reached down and grabbed her, his muscles reacting like most twenty year olds' would have—she came off the ground easily, and he kept running, head down, out of the vision of the house's windows.

Will didn't turn around or look behind him. He ran as if his life depended on it.

Only at a distance of a hundred yards did Will slow down. He could barely see anything inside his helmet, but he knew that he had his hand correctly over Rigley's mouth because he couldn't hear her screams, though he felt the vibrations and muffled noise as she tried. He finally came to a stop, his lungs heaving from the pressure he put on them, his heart pumping loudly in his ears.

"Rigley," he said. "Rigley, stop! It's me, it's Will!"

Her struggling subsided, but didn't quit, and so he held on still, not putting her down on the expanding clear ground around his feet—the cold from his suit kept doing its work.

"Rigley, if you scream, we're dead. If you do anything stupid, we're fucking dead." Will slowly lowered her, not taking his hands from her mouth. His helmet's glass was clearing some, and he found Rigley's eyes, strained and stressed, but seeing him finally. Her feet touched the ground but Will kept his hand over her mouth. She wasn't struggling anymore, only looking back at him. "Are you going to keep quiet?"

She nodded.

Will looked for another second, knowing that if she screamed, he was dead—also knowing that he couldn't trust her. She was too far gone. Still, all he had was hope, nothing else. Hope that she wouldn't open her goddamn mouth.

Will took his hand away and they both stood there in silence, staring almost stupidly.

"What happened to you?" he said after a few seconds. "What the hell happened?"

Rigley didn't say anything. Her lips didn't tremble, though tears filled her eyes and then rolled out in long, fat streaks down her face. Without any warning, she reached forward and latched on to Will, hugging him as she cried into his suit.

* * *

"
C
ome in
."

Kenneth Marks turned the doorknob and entered the president's room. He closed the door once inside and stood with his back to it, not moving any further into the room. He folded his hands at his waist, and looked at Trone without glancing to Knox who sat on the other side of the desk.

"Yes, sir?" Kenneth Marks said as if he didn't know what he had been called in for. Like he hadn't taken a call from an alien and given a formula to stop the assault she faced.

"So she called?" Trone said.

"Yes, sir."

"Were you planning on making me aware of this?"

"Sir, I understood that you would hear the call nearly as soon as it was done, perhaps even while it was happening."

Trone looked to Knox for a second, but Kenneth Marks kept his eyes directly on the president. Looking back, Trone said, "What was the formula you told her, Marks?"

"Nothing. It meant absolutely nothing. The only way to stop the disease's spread is through the antidote that we created."

"And that's here, right?" Trone said.

"Yes, sir."

Another silence passed as Trone looked at him. Kenneth Marks didn't care for the look. It didn't quite remind him of the previous president, but close enough. The look didn't say Marks was dispensable, but that Trone hated him. No one in this room had ever liked Kenneth Marks, clearly, and Knox had hated him for some time. The president, though? Perhaps not until now.

Because the president realized Kenneth Marks played for his own team
and
couldn't be controlled.

Which put Kenneth Marks in a dangerous position.

"What about her comments on the Earth's core being destroyed?"

And now, the river card would come down. It would either give Kenneth Marks a royal flush or leave him bust. Everything came down to the next few sentences, because if Kenneth Marks didn't leave this bunker a half mile beneath the ground, then he saw no reason to stop the world's impending death. Perhaps it was petty, but if he couldn't have his fun, then fuck them all—to use a crude phrase.

"She's right."

"And you didn't know this would happen?"

"I didn't know the core had been changed," he said, his hands still at his waist.

"So you're going to kill us all? That's the plan?"

"No, sir. We can stop it."

"How are you going to do that?" Trone said.

"We can stop the disease when it reaches the core. The antidote, it will work wherever we set it loose. If we put it down in the core, the disease will die before it damages the planet."

Trone rolled his eyes, looking again to Knox. "And how do you plan on dropping this antidote into the Earth's core, Marks? Seems like a bit of a chore."

"Yes, sir, it's not ideal. However, it's still very possible. Fire fighters face extreme temperatures; we'll need their gear when we go to it. Once we're there, though, the process is simple enough. I simply drop it down the well. The core will obviously eat the container, but the antidote will survive."

"Did you just say you'd be the one to drop the antidote into the core?" Trone said, looking back to Kenneth Marks.

"Yes, sir."

"Why in God's name do you think I'd let you go?"

"Simply, sir, because no one else is intelligent enough to ensure that this works. I built the antidote based off the disease, with no outside help. There just isn't anyone else that can do it."

"All you need to do is drop it in, that's what you just said, right? Why can't someone else do it?"

"I have to activate it," Kenneth Marks said, the lie rolling off his lips like condensation down a cold glass. "As somewhat of an insurance policy on myself, I made it so only my live blood cells can turn it on."

The president swallowed, his jaw flexing.

"Blood lives for a bit, even if you're dead. The cells don't die as soon as you do," Knox said.

"True," Kenneth Marks said, not looking away from the president. "However, a certain percentage of live cells have to be introduced to the antidote in order for it to work. I know that percentage." He turned to Knox. "Do you?"

Knox held his gaze but said nothing. A few seconds passed and Kenneth Marks went back to the president. "So, as you see, it's imperative that I'm there."

He actually had tried to make his blood activate the antidote, but all it did was kill it, rendering it useless. It would have been a perfect insurance policy, but alas, he could only lean on the lie.

It was working, though. He could see it in Trone's face, his eyes, his demeanor. Anger lived there, yes, but so did resignation. The man saw what he thought to be the truth, that without Kenneth Marks, all was lost.

Trone went back to Knox.

"You're going with him."

H
elos stood outside
, waiting.

The lights above warmed her skin and she closed her eyes, focusing on the heat moving up from her feet as well. She loved standing outside, feeling her energy—her very life force—increase.

She had her thoughts as to what Morena would say, though she hadn't searched her Knowledge for any truth about the matter. She would let her daughter tell her, one way or the other.

Morena was on her way and Helos hadn't wanted to hear the news indoors.

She opened her eyes and looked at the garden in front of her. Tall
Glarooms
grew fifteen feet high, thick at the trunk, and thinning as they raised. Beautiful purple flowers shot out every few inches, and in each one rested sweet fruit. Morena stepped forward and placed a finger on the pink fruit, looking like an egg sitting in the flower. She wouldn't pick it. She would wait until it fell from the tree and then another would sprout as its flesh rotted into the ground. This whole area would fill with them before Helos passed from Bynimian.

"Mother," Morena said from behind her.

Helos didn't take her hand from the pink fruit, nor turn around. "How are you doing?"

"I'm well."

A slight wind blew across the pavilion, masking the silence between them. Helos watched her aura blow with it, stretching out to her left in a beautiful flowing vision.

"I loved your father," Helos said. "We don't speak about him much, but I loved him. Only two things in this life did I love more. You and Bynimian. I didn't know that I would love you more, though your father and I knew my duties to Bynimian before our marriage." She stroked the fruit with her thumb. "His death wrecked me. I nearly didn't conceive you because of it. I've never told you that either. Of course, we had some of his aura split and placed in safe holding for the future, no one is going to rush the birth of a Var. When he died, the aura was still there, waiting on me to take it into my body and combine it with my own. I didn't want it. I didn't want you. I couldn't bear to look at you and see him; that's what I thought."

She let her hand drop as her aura tightened, no longer flowing with the light breeze.

"You're more him than me. You've always been more him. Different, though, too. You have your father's temper, his attitude to take action first, and contemplate second. Yet you surpass his wildest ambitions, and that's saying something for a Bynum that courted a Var." She paused for a few seconds. "The difference between you and I, the largest one, is that I wouldn't have died for your father. Not for any self-love, but because of Bynimian. My duty outstripped any right I had to happiness. I still feel that way. That's the difference."

Another pause, stretching on for half a minute.

"Tell me why you've come, Morena."

"I'm going to marry him."

Helos looked at the ground. No shock, no questions even. Her daughter … well, she was stronger than Helos, there could be no doubt about that. She would sacrifice everything, prestige, fame, power—really, her whole life—for this Briten. The Lorn.

And Helos supposed that courage was as good as any to rule Bynimian. It wasn't
Helos'
courage—different, but all the same, still courage. No pressure could ever sway her daughter from what she believed.

"Okay," Helos said, turning around and looking at her daughter. "Let's tell the world.”

"When should I prepare to leave Bynimian?” Morena said.

Helos turned around and looked at her child.

“You're not leaving. It’s time to prepare for your Varhood."

* * *

B
riten sat
across from his father.

Dying.

He still couldn't come to grips with the word, not as it applied to his Obscur. He couldn't die. That's what Briten's mind kept telling him, over and over. Even now, sitting so close, Briten saw no signs of disease, of death. His father wasn't lying, though.

"I've thought a lot about what you told me," Obscur said.

"So have I."

Obscur looked at Briten. His aura flowed out as it usually did, just another illusion about his father's health.

"If you leave, you are killing your lineage. Everything I've built. Your child will not be pure, but a half-breed. Have you considered that?"

Of course he had. No ruler of Lornarus had ever been anything but pure Lorn. No child would ever rule this planet unless full blooded. The Lorns wouldn't stand for it. Indeed, they would revolt before they allowed Briten to return, his child from a different world in tow. They would kill Briten, the planet's own son.

But he wouldn't come back.

He already heard from Morena. He knew that her mother accepted their plan. He was headed to Bynimian, and from there to marry their future Var.

They would have a child. A female. And in turn, it would rule Bynimian as Briten's full blood child should have ruled Lornarus.

"Where are you, Briten? Pay attention," his father said.

His tone brought Briten back, quickly, the lifetime of training snapping into place.

"Yes, I've considered it. My bloodline, your bloodline, will end with me."

"And this planet? That you were born to rule? What do you say of it? Tell me because I need to hear your logic before everything I've built is thrown away like the dead at the end of war."

Their first conversation, his father had been pensive. His father reflected on his life, on his death, and on Briten's declaration. Now, his father was Obscur. His father ruled. His father wanted answers. His father
hated
what Briten was doing. Hated that his son sat here, telling him he would discard everything—millions of years of evolution, for a female.

"We will find another ruler," Briten said.

"We? In what world is there a we anymore, Briten? You're leaving and I'll be left here with less than a year to find a successor. There will be war on this planet as leaders try to take my place."

"There is time. We can announce and I'll wait until we've selected someone before I leave. I don't have to ship off tonight."

Obscur chuckled. His aura flowed out toward Briten, moving within a foot of touching him.

"Do you think that anyone will care at all about your thoughts once you make this blasphemous announcement? They may kill me for siring you, let alone have
you
choose
their
next leader. No, after this
announcement
, you will leave. So what else do you have, what other thoughts about your home?"

Guilt, true, but that wasn't all his father drove at. A righteous anger underlay every word. Righteous because what his son spoke of might even be considered evil—a betrayal of his species. But Briten saw more, too.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK WILL HAPPEN TO YOUR HOME IF YOU LEAVE!" Obscur roared, his aura nearly wrapping completely around Briten.

Briten didn't blink. He didn't move. He only stared at his father, understanding—finally—that this anger was as much directed at himself as Briten. He couldn't handle his son leaving, not after what was done to Briten's brother. One son led a revolution. The other left the world. And what did that say about Obscur's ability as a father?

He looked at Obscur, his eyes alive with red fire, looking like he did years ago when he put down his son's revolution. Looking like he was ready to fly into battle and kill without hesitation.

"You are the ruler, father. Not me," Briten said.

His father sat erect, breath heaving from his lungs, his aura still inches from Briten. He said nothing, though.

After a second he fell back in his chair, his aura flowing with him, wrapping around his body.

Finally, Briten saw an old man. Not small, never that, but beaten. The fire in his eyes now only looked like dead embers.

"Without you, there is nothing," Obscur whispered. "Nothing for me. Nothing for this planet."

Briten stayed silent.

"I've lived this whole life," his father said, staring to the left, "and there will be nothing to show for it. I've dedicated my entire life to this planet, and there isn't a Lorn alive ready to take the reigns when I pass. None except for you."

He looked to Briten.

"What will happen to us?" he said.

"We will live, just as we always have. Someone will rise. Someone always does."

His father looked off to the side again, and they both sat in silence for a long time.