Nemesis: Book Five (3 page)

We're at war
, Briten thought, his voice filling the library the same as the radio. He wasn't there with Michael, the red aura having left hours ago, and now when he thought or spoke, the sound system in the library filtered it in.

This thought held nothing but cold, so close to what Michael used to feel when his father started railing at him. No heat, just ice forming across the entirety of the alien's mind.

The air conditioner blew, cold air shooting out of vents lining the bookshelves, though Michael hadn't noticed it before.

Briten meant to kill, without any doubt. He meant to find his lover and help her in this genocide. Michael didn't know Morena, but if she was similar, then he saw little hope. How many had she killed today? The radio couldn't even give an accurate count; and now, this one, this new creature in his body wanted nothing more than to join forces with her.

Michael looked down to the book at his feet, seeing the bent spine. He didn't need to read to understand what they wanted anymore; he only need feel the air growing cool around him with every second. He could read, though, to find out if they could be stopped. Maybe he would discover something in these books.

Maybe.

He already knew something Briten didn't: death was creeping up on the alien, but his mind was so focused on finding his wife that he couldn't see it. Maybe Michael could speed that up? But if he did, would his body die with Briten?

Too many questions, one growing off another like an evil plant—each question sprouting more and more as soon as one budded.

He didn't have any other choice; where else could he go? He picked the book up and went back to his chair. Michael started reading again, half listening to the radio as it boomed from above, that and the sound of chilly air shooting through the vents.

P
art of Helos
forgot she stood in the presence of The Makers. Part of her was so wrapped up in the images before her that she could think of nothing else. Every part of the experience felt so real, as if she were there, right next to her daughter. The world around Helos nearly shone with the white strands. Helos knew that Bynimian hadn't begun in this fashion, that Bynums had evolved to be able to create like this. Perhaps Morena thought others had seen what she now witnessed, but the truth was no one had ever seen anything like it. Morena was the first.

Morena, and now Helos.

But Helos wasn't there, not truly, though she saw it as clearly as Morena.

Morena’s children walking the land, trying to learn about this new home.

Helos saw Morena lying down, understanding—at least somewhat—how weak her attack made her. She saw the human hovering around like a lost animal. The oldest of Morena's children standing watch, protecting her from anything that might try to harm his mother.

Helos wanted to be there, more than anything she ever wanted before; she wanted to be with her daughter. And yet, here she was, across the universe. Perhaps even outside of the universe, on another plane of existence. She could only watch … and yearn.

The images in front of Helos changed, quickly. The white world transforming to one resembling Bynimian. Bynums going about their lives, no longer standing in white fields trying to understand the basics of life. Helos watched time speed forward, changing the world Morena created to what it would be.

Bynums spread across the land, figuring out ways to live on top of the ocean, walking on water in ways that they couldn't on Bynimian. She watched as they built cities in the clouds, as they began controlling the entire world. She watched as humanity tried to fight Morena, but with each passing year, fewer and fewer humans existed to carry on the battle. They hid in the mountains, but eventually Bynums spread there too. They hid in deserts, tried to hide underground, but Bynums always found them, and when they did, they killed what they found.

Helos watched as the white world full of youth turned into something different from the Bynimian she knew. Her people turned to hunters, with them barely knowing or understanding that they used to be different. Her people, once so peaceful, turned conquerors.

She watched as a single ship took off from the planet, now devoid of almost all human life. The ship shot into the sky like a star. The view of Morena's new world faded away as Helos followed the ship out into space. She didn't know where it was heading or the reason behind its departure, but it moved through the black of space with ease. She couldn't see who was in it, but she knew all the same. Morena. Her daughter. Because Helos was watching her life unfold, what was to happen.

Finally, the ship landed, finding another planet, leaving the former one in some forgotten place that Helos could no longer see.

Morena exited the ship, others trailing behind her. The planet appeared to be deserted, but as time moved on at a rapid pace, beings emerged from the planet … and more blood was shed. How many years did Helos watch pass as Morena and her group of conquerors took over the new planet in much the same way they had the previous one? And in the end, Helos stared at a planet that resembled both the previous one and Bynimian. In the end, Morena colonized another planet, and then that singular ship left again—leaving behind the past and ripping through space to find the next.

And it happened again.

And again.

Ad nauseum.

And finally, Morena died, just as every Var before her—but Bynums stretched across the universe like a blanket, one that brought disease instead of warmth, one that killed everything it came across. Morena colonized hundreds of planets, and while each one wasn't already occupied, many were—and as Morena arrived, those already there ceased to exist, their species as extinct as the first planet Morena conquered.

Morena would spread across the universe in a way that no other Bynum ever considered. She would, if allowed to continue, eventually cause the destruction of her husband's own species. Helos' daughter would become a plague across every species to ever live, besides her own.

The vision Helos saw disappeared, leaving the swirling colors of the circle. They didn't light up, didn't attempt to speak. They swirled in silence, if not in peace exactly, then perhaps in contentment.

Helos understood.

R
igley couldn't stop staring
at this new world. It occupied her mind like a sore tooth, she unable to keep her tongue from going to it even though pain shot out each time. Some part of her couldn't comprehend this place, one that she helped create. Some part of her looked out at these creatures dotting the landscape and wondered what she had done.

And yet, part of her was happy.

Part of her loved what she saw. Because she saved these children, even if it meant she killed others. These fully grown creatures, they lived because of Rigley—no one else could claim that.

She stood on the porch listening to the sides battle, each side a part of her and yet separate, as if something else controlled them other than her conscious mind.

A phrase fluttered through her thoughts like a butterfly over a flower bed. Lazy, without hurry or worry. Something Abraham Lincoln said that she remembered from her school—a house divided cannot stand. Or something like that, something close to it. The butterfly rested there in her mind, touching down lightly, letting her glimpse its meaning.

How long had she been divided? How many years had she battled herself, if not in this war, then others? What was one more battle? She could handle it; she had to.

And then the phrase flew off, leaving as it came, without a care, and as the thought left, so did the meaning.

Rigley looked out at the auras, some dancing with each other, some solitary, as their owners stood completely still like unplugged robots. She didn't know what they were doing, but they needed to hurry up. Rigley also didn't know what the U.S. was doing, but she figured a lot more than standing around staring into space.

She didn't hear the alien approach from behind her; instead, she saw the pale blue preceding him from the corner of her eye. Rigley turned, giving up her view of the children, and faced him.

He didn't look at her, but past her, watching the others as she had moments before.

"We must prepare," he said.

Rigley's head cocked to the side, knowing that she heard him speak, but unable to believe it.

"What?" she said after a few seconds. He still didn't bother looking at her.

"We must be ready when they return, your kind."

"You're talking?" Rigley said, feeling dumb as the words left her mouth.

"It would appear so, yes," Briten answered.

"What does that mean?"

Briten looked to her, the blue of his eyes deeper than that of his aura, and standing out like lights in the night. "It means that I'm fully aware."

"And what about them out there?"

"They're unaware. They'll remain unaware for a while, as long as I did."

"Are they helpless?" Rigley said, yet not turning to reference them, unable to take her eyes from his.

"Somewhat, yes. The longer they're alive, the less helpless they'll grow, and their auras will protect them to some degree no matter what. But yes, right now they need protection." He broke eye contact and went back to staring at his kin.

"How long will she be down? Morena?"

"I don't know."

Rigley kept staring for a few more seconds, and unsure what to do, turned back to the yard. She didn't want to believe she was here, looking at this or standing next to the creature beside her. Because the aliens in the yard, their eyes all focused on him. Before, they stared mindlessly ahead, as if unable to focus on anything.

And now, they stared at him the way a dog does a piece of food—almost ravenously.

"I need to know what they're capable of," he said. "I need to know everything you can tell me about them, what they're likely to do next, and what type of weaponry they'll use."

Rigley nodded. "When?"

She wanted this. She wanted to help. She wanted to keep pushing, to keep saving lives.

Is that what you're doing?

"We should start immediately."

Rigley swallowed and closed her eyes. She thought the battle inside silenced for a moment during their conversation, but in the darkness of shut eyes, she realized that it wasn't leaving—that it might actually be heading toward its apex.

* * *

M
orena saw
Briten staring at her. Not her child, but her lover, the one lost.

She hadn't seen him in … well, forever. Millions of years. The last time was when she put him in the ship, when she held him, before locking herself in.

Where had he gone?
The thought came to her as she looked at her dead husband. His body wasn't in the ship when it landed. She had been alone. No answer came to the question; perhaps The Makers knew, but Morena didn't.

And yet, here he was, his red eyes finding her through his dancing aura.

They stood ten feet from each other, and yet Morena couldn't move. She didn't feel weary, not like after her struggle with the Earth's core—she couldn't move because …

You're dreaming, Morena
.

Something else she left behind on Bynimian. She didn't dream as she crossed the universe. None since she arrived here either; her mind had been silent, until now.

You can't go to him because he is no more.

Had she lost herself? Had she forgotten about him since showing up here? She left Bynimian, if not fully, then at least partly
for
him. And now, she came to this planet, this Earth, and hadn't looked for him at all. She let him fade from memory as she faced the problems of colonization.

And what of him? Did you simply stop loving him because new pressures showed up? What about when the world was nearly collapsing on your neck—did he stop loving you, or did he sacrifice himself?

Briten blinked in front of her, a single time. He didn't move either, only stood there with his perfect body, his god-like presence.

They tried to save her world, together. They tried to live together, forever. All of that was gone now, with only her left to carry on—and looking at him now, Morena didn't know if she wanted to. She told her mother long ago what she would do to keep him, and now he was gone.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely escaping her lips. "I'm so sorry."

Because he was dead, and she only saw a memory now; because she had let him go.

"Please forgive me…."

She stood and stared, for a long time, refusing to turn away and yet unable to go forward—all of her aching.

T
he paintbrush faced the floor
, with red blood dripping to the white floor every few seconds. Sam squawked behind Rigley, an angry, hateful sound. None of the fun he possessed before. Rigley didn't feel much fun was left in this room; she certainly didn't feel that it contained the same qualities as when she first arrived: safety, security, a sense of home.

The wall in front of her was a dark red, the color of dried blood. Yet, she couldn't quite see what she created; no matter how she turned her head or how far she moved forward or backward, the image appeared to be no more than a blob of red. Yet that wasn't what she had painted, and she
knew
it, even if she couldn't
remember
what it had been.

"SHUT UP!" she screamed at the bird behind her. If Sam heard her, he didn't care; his incessant bleating continued.

A large drop of sweat rolled down her forehead, caught briefly on her eyebrow, and then spilled to the floor, landing a few inches from the drying blood.

It's hot.

She hadn't thought about the temperature in here
(Is that right? Didn't you notice the floor warming a little while ago?),
but now it felt pressing. Because the room was heating up, and all she had to do was look at her sweat on the floor to understand that.

Where's a thermostat?

She turned from the painting, forgetting it for the moment, and searched the walls for something that could turn down the temperature. The room was huge, but she scanned the whole thing quickly. Nothing. Only the white light looking back at her, though it had lost the calm of before. Now it looked like the white, glaring light she might have seen in an interrogation room. All the beauty gone.

She looked to her left at the bird.

Was it smiling at her?

Its beak open and it finally silent, staring right at her. Marks' face beneath a tattered mass of flesh, pink sticking out every which way, the tan skin nearly nonexistent.

She needed to get out of here. She didn't know exactly why, but she felt it the same as she felt the heat starting to wrap around her. Rigley couldn't see the door anywhere, the room so long it seemed more like a corridor now.

She felt her heart pounding in her chest. Her breath coming a bit heavier.

Don't panic
.

"Don't panic," she said as if the words spoken aloud could hold off the terror rising around her.

"PANIC!" Sam screeched.

Rigley jumped, the sound louder than anything the bird made before. She turned fully to it, and Sam dropped his beak into the skull's flesh beneath him. He tossed it up like a pelican and swallowed the bloody meat in one gulp.

She backed another step away and quickly glanced down the room.

Just go,
she thought.
You'll find the exit
.