by Axel Martens
Chapter One – Descent
“There is an art, it says, or rather, a knack to flying. The knack lies in learning
how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.” — Douglas Adams
“What’s going on?” Brenton shuffled from the med bay onto the bridge, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. His gait was unsteady. Red warnings blazed across the monitors. The metallic smell of ozone clung to the stale air, and a labored grinding had replaced the hyperdrive’s gentle hum.
Xavier stood at the raised center position, strapped into a harness, his hands flying over the controls at an uncanny speed. He had closed his eyes, and his head jerked in an erratic pattern, his tongue darting between his teeth.
“Xavier?” Brenton croaked. “Are we going to die in the next ten beats?”
“Probably not, or Auto wouldn’t have initiated reanimation.”
“Then stop your manic fussing and tell me what’s going on!”
“Something hit us.” Xavier turned his head, opening his eyes a tiny fraction. Symbols and charts scrolled at a dizzying speed across his pupils. He was synced with the ship, gathering feeds from its myriad of sensors. “Or more likely, we hit something, given the speed we were traveling.” The pilot returned his gaze to the main screen. “It’s non-trivial, otherwise Auto could have handled it, but not definitively fatal because . . .”
“Because we’re awake,” Brenton growled. He stepped closer and flicked his finger. His long nail flipped the feed switch on the main console, cutting the data stream to the pilot’s mind. Xavier’s hands fell still. An exasperated sigh escaped through the gap between his teeth. Despite standing on a podium, Xavier had to crane his neck to look up at Brenton, who stood almost three spans taller.
“Something small and heavy penetrated water tank two,” Xavier explained. “It sliced through six layers of reinforced sheet scales and cracked the obsidiate hull. Given that our shield neither detected nor deflected it, my guess is an object of pure titanium.”
“There is no pure titanium floating in outer space. Did someone shoot at us?”
“At a velocity of 7.931 times the speed of light relative to Epsilon Eridani, I find the hypothesis of a targeted attack rather unlikely. Auto is still running spectral analysis. You know our master brain; it doesn’t like guessing games. But I have a hunch where this debris came from.”
“Where?” Brenton growled, his eyes scanning the starmap until they widened in horror.
“At less than a hundred thousand drifts from Ghâsh Zoruk, I’d say we hit a manufactured object. Someone left their screwdriver floating.”
“Eridani’s fire!” Brenton recoiled, banging his hip against the hologram projector. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Strike that, of course you are! But we shouldn’t have come so close to that cursed planet in the first place.”
“Auto must have updated the route to minimize the impact from the nova in the Andromeda system. I mean, what were the odds of hitting something out here?”
“Sulfur-rotten, obviously!” Brenton grumbled, wiping his large, calloused hand over his face. “Continue your diagnosis. I’ll step out. I need to see the damage with my own eyes. Don’t launch the hyperdrive!”
“I can’t; it’s offline.”
“That’s what you said the last time, too.”
Two soars later, Xavier and Brenton sat in the mess, chewing on dehydrated protein strips. Xavier had brought the ship’s systems back online. His fingers drummed a steady rhythm on the table’s glass surface. Brenton breathed audibly through his nose, his broad chest rising and falling in a precise and constant meter. For long beats, no one spoke. Finally, the commander raised his gaze, his piercing green eyes asking an unspoken question.
“I simulated 749 scenarios,” Xavier declared. “Only nine offer a chance of success above the threshold.”
“What’s the threshold?”
“Survival.”
“Reasonable,” Brenton nodded. “Go on.”
“After weighing the constraining parameters, I eliminated seven as feasible but impractical. Basically, all are variations of a low-velocity return to Ægir. And while we have enough energy reserves, we would be a while en route—quite a while.”
“How long?”
“Hard to say exactly,” the pilot hedged. “I’d need to run load tests on the photon drives first, to see if the impact compromised their alignment.”
“Xavier . . . How long?” Brenton’s fingers curled into claws.
“Somewhere between twenty-three . . . and twenty-eight thousand orbits.”
“Blast!” The air escaped the commander’s broad chest, and he buried his face in his hands. “Everyone we knew would be long dead on our return.”
“I presumed you wouldn’t like that,” the pilot stated, his voice even. “Hence, we need to regain superluminal velocity. And for that . . .” He took a deep breath. “We have to land on Ghâsh Zoruk.”
“You can’t be serious!” Brenton gestured to the monitor screen where a tiny blue-green dot hovered in a field of darkness. “It isn’t called ‘Scorched Earth’ because of the magnificent sunsets. What about the other choice?”
“The two remaining options differ only in the manner of our approach. If we were near any other planet, we would transmit a distress signal and ask for assistance in exchange for compensation. We have significant amounts of gold foil shielding the experiment module. They are said to like anything shiny.”
“You can’t reason with these beasts!” Brenton’s angry voice flooded the tiny space, bouncing off the wall panels. “The last time humans came in contact with dragons, it ended in a bloodbath.”
“That was almost two epochs ago . . .”
“Yes, and since then, these vile creatures have only gained in malice. They’ve ruined the entire planet,” Brenton jumped to his feet. “Noxious smoke rises everywhere from their crude stone caves. They burned the forests, poisoned the waters, and drove all other species to near extinction—except for the enslaved and hideously altered beings they keep for their sustenance.”
“Your assessment is no more than a conjecture at this time. The last reliable facts on Ghâsh Zoruk predate the Edict of Abandonment—nearly five hundred Standard Gaian Years ago.”
“The high council maintains more recent data, of course.” Brenton shook his head, grinding his teeth. “Defense reconnaissance has continued. Did you think we would leave these monsters unobserved? I, myself, flew past that ruin of a world during my last year in the academy. There’s a reason Auto didn’t suggest an approach.”
“I knew it,” Xavier hissed, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “How could you keep this from me? We’ve been friends since our shelling. And you never said anything?”
“All missions into this sector were classified for obvious reasons. It’s our origin we’re talking about. The hope of returning one day is more than a sentimental yearning. There still might be artifacts . . .” Brenton clamped his mouth shut, but Xavier saw a hungry glint in his commander’s eyes. Both maintained a tense silence for long beats.
“Then there’s only one option left,” Xavier whispered as if he were afraid of being overheard. “We need to approach in stealth mode, land behind enemy lines, and perform a rudimentary repair with the available means. At least, the most important ingredients—hydrogen oxide and coarse silica—are available in abundance.”
“Coming in unobserved won’t be easy. These creatures are everywhere, and they have had a millennium to sharpen their talons.”
“Some breeds are said to be quite docile; they won’t bother us. If we select a remote location, we should be able to handle small numbers of enemy combatants, given your substantial firepower. Just give me a few hours, and the Jörmungandr will be good as new.”
“Well, if that’s the only way I ever see Vesta and little Ignis again, then so be it. Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch one of these vile beasts. You know, our forebears hunted and ate them.”
“Brenton, you’re not a rogue! This kind of attitude is exactly what led to the conflict in the first place.”
“I’m just saying, we might get lucky. Don’t you wonder how they taste?”
“No, I don’t. I consider myself a member of a civilized species and have more important matters on my mind than broadening my culinary horizons.”
“Lucky you!” Brenton tossed his half-eaten strip of dehydrated protein onto the table. “I’m stressed, tired, and hungover from stasis—that makes me hungry!”
“Then catch some fish when we’re down there. No one ever started a war over fish.”
* * *
While the two star-farers debated their grim options in the deadly vacuum of outer space, life in the universe continued in blissful ignorance. Hundreds of thousands of miles away, at Firestone University, Evander Foss fled the rector’s council chamber. The guffaws of the assembled deans, tenured professors, and esteemed scientific advisors chased him down the marbled corridor. Never in his young life had he been so utterly humiliated.
He should have known better. After submitting his research papers and grant proposals under a pseudonym and receiving nothing but dozens of scornful rejections, he knew what the establishment thought of his theories. Rector Ignotus had only granted him this opportunity because of his name. He was a Foss, after all—just not the right one.
The pale young scientist wasn’t his uncle, Professor Corbin Foss, the world-renowned titan of evolutionary paleontology. Nor was he his father, General Kaelen Foss, the highly decorated commander of the strategic bomber force. Firestone’s rector had likely hoped for a hefty donation from one of the famous twins. Instead, he got Evander and his “ridiculous” theory of hyperintelligent dinosaurs.
How could a day that started with kissing the woman of his dreams become a living nightmare in only a few hours?
The young man turned a corner and literally ran into Monica. He spun, tripped, and fell, while her combat-trained reflexes kept her upright.
“Damn it!” he called, holding his left eyebrow, which had made painful contact with the bronze bust of the university’s founder. “Monica, I’m so . . .”
She reached down and pulled him upright with a strength that belied her small stature.
“That bad, huh?” she asked.
“Worse,” he grumbled, rubbing his forehead.
“You’re bleeding. We should see a nurse.”
“No, please.” He pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from his trouser pocket and pressed it to the cut. “Let’s get out of here. My bike is near the entrance to the sculpture garden.”
“Not on my watch!” she said, her hazel eyes boring into him. “I’m taking you home. I have Dad’s keys.”
“You can’t take the station chief’s glider,” he protested.
“Of course, I can.”
“Yes, but you’re not allowed to.”
“Any order, directive, and prohibition may be altered in life-threatening situations: Paragraph 2, Section C, first entry of the Naval Officer’s Code of Statutes. You’re coming with me, that’s an order, Cadet!” She seized his arm, pecked a kiss on his cheek, and marched him toward the exit.
* * *
“How long before you get in trouble for stealing . . . I mean, borrowing your father’s glider?” Evander asked twenty minutes later. He sat strapped into the co-pilot’s seat of the sleek hoverjet, his knuckles white against the armrests.
“Dad is in conference with the Joint Chiefs all evening. Something big is going on, all hush-hush and top secret.” Monica banked the glider, giving him a spectacular view of Santa Lucia. From this altitude, the home of twenty-seven million people looked like a glacier of glass and steel gushing down the mountain slopes and squeezing through the valley to pool at the water’s edge. The setting sun ignited a brilliant glow on the city’s skyline. Smiling, she tightened the turn until his sharp intake of air drew her attention. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, and his entire body trembled. With a resigned sigh, she leveled the glider and started a slow descent.
“You know,” she said in her dreamy voice, “few people get to see the land like this. Most would enjoy it. Some would even go so far as calling the view romantic.”
“Please, Monica, I appreciate your company, your effort . . . I very much appreciate you! But can I do it a little closer to the ground?”
“You want me to get lower?” she asked in a tone of pure innocence before sending the vessel into a short, controlled dive. He squeaked like a mouse, and her laughter filled the tiny cabin until she remembered the day he had had. “Sorry, Vander,” she said, blushing, and leveled the hoverjet with practiced ease. “But honestly, if the university had granted you the expedition to Kora-Kilauea, how would you have gotten there? You hate flying, and you get seasick on an air mattress in a swimming pool.”
“Sedated,” he said through clenched teeth. “Sometimes I wonder if you agreed to go out with me just for the fun of having someone to torture.”
“Darn it, you figured me out!” She gave him a wicked grin. “But too late, I have you now!” Taking Evander’s hand, she could sense his muscles relaxing while his heartbeat quickened.
“If we’re not in a hurry,” he ventured as they neared one thousand feet above sea level, “let’s land over there and see the sunset.” He pointed to an abandoned oil platform two miles offshore.
“You have a peculiar taste, Vander. A rusty oil rig?”
“Well, if we land on it, it won’t spoil the view.”
“Huh,” she said, smiling. “Makes kind of sense, in a weird way.”
Minutes later, the glider landed on the helipad of the abandoned platform. Monica had circled three times before touching down, inspecting the structure and asking Evander to do some back-of-the-napkin calculations on the structural soundness. When she stepped out, still wearing her emergency chute, she raised her arms to the sides, as if balancing on a tightrope. The hairs on her neck stood at an angle, and every swaying motion, every creak and groan had her stiffening.
“Who’s afraid now?” he laughed.
“Flying is safe, as long as I’m at the controls. Standing on a piece of ancient industrial junk in the unforgiving ocean is not.”
“So, you have issues giving up control?”
“Only to random chance, Dr. Freud. Taking risks without the ability to calculate the probabilities is just reckless.”
“Call me Mr. Reckless, then.” He took her by the hand, spun her around, and they kissed.
“Funny,” she said a while later, nestled in his arm. “When you are at my mercy, you’re a frightened fawn. But when we’re both equally powerless, you pretend to be a tower of strength.”
“I’m not pretending anything. I just didn’t want you to be afraid.”
“Do you know what that says about you?” she asked.
“No, what?”
“You’re weird!”
“My ideas about intelligent dinosaurs didn’t tip you off?”
“Nah, I thought you were showing off. I dated a mathematician once. He always tried to impress me with weird paradoxons.”
“Paradoxes. What happened?”
“One time, he became too grabby, and I punched him. Despite his genius, he didn’t see that one coming.”
“Will you warn me? I mean, I saw your last fight . . .”
“What happened to Mr. Reckless?” she laughed.
“Uhm . . .”
“Calling Kestrel, copy?” The voice crackled from the glider’s radio. “Heimdall calling. Kestrel, do you copy?”
“Shoot, it’s Dad,” she said, jumping to her feet. She took a running leap, vaulted over the front wing, and slid into the cockpit, snatching the intercom. “Kestrel here. Heimdall, copy?”
“Where are you, copy?”
“Twelve clicks out west by north-west from base, practicing precision landings on the old oil rig. Copy?”
“Who’s landing on whom, copy?”
“Dad?!”
“Did you forget that I have access to audio and video feed from the glider, copy?”
“Shoot, I did. Copy?”
“Sloppy, Lieutenant! Listen, don’t do stupid stuff. It’s not a race; you folks have time. Better to have a firm intelligence assessment before committing to perilous action. COPY?”
“DAD!!!”
“I need to sign off. We’re leaving in 75 minutes. I’m with General Foss, so don’t make this awkward. Copy?”
“Where are you going? How long? I can be back in ten, seven if I push it. Copy?”
“No need. We’re leaving from HC. Don’t crash the flyer, or the quartermaster will be up my ass. Copy?”
“But where to? Copy?”
“Can’t say. Stay safe! Heimdall over.”
“You too, Dad! Love you. Kestrel over,” she said, but the connection had already shut down.
“What was that?” Evander asked. He’d gotten up and walked over to her side of the glider.
“Our dads are off to somewhere undisclosed. Has to do with the hyper-secret thing I told you earlier, I’m sure.”
“What was the ‘firm intelligence assessment’ about? He didn’t mean . . .”
“What do you think?” she huffed, blushing. “When I was ten, and every other parent talked about the birds and the bees, my father explained human reproduction in terms of battleships and fortresses.”
“Wow? So . . . you still don’t know?” he laughed, and she punched him. “Ouch! Sorry. Should we go back?”
Monica sat lost in thought, fidgeting with the controls.
“Kestrel, copy?” he said, speaking into his hands to imitate the sound of the radio. “Shall we go, copy?”
“Yessss,” she finally replied, stretching the word into three syllables. “Absolutely, we should go! What plans do you have for the weekend?”
“Uhm . . . I don’t . . . Do you want to stay over?” He asked, his voice trembling.
“I have a better idea. Let’s gather some firm intelligence!”
“You don’t mean..? Monica, what do you mean?”
“With a rescue glider, stripped clean and an extra fuel tank . . . Yes! Utilizing the ground effect, we should be able to get there and back—no problem.”
“What are you talking about? Please tell me you’re not thinking of flying to Kora-Kilauea!”
“Why not? It’s been nearly five centuries since the last nuclear tests.”
“But it’s still a restricted military zone.”
“Did you enjoy being laughed at?” she asked, an unexpected fire igniting in her eyes. “Haven’t you told me that all the answers are there? Where’s your professional pride, Dr. Foss?” The intensity of her gaze held him petrified like a fly in amber, until the corners of her lips pulled into a smile. “Where’s your scientific curiosity, Mr. Reckless?” she added, with a mischievous twinkle.
“Monica,” he groaned. “We’ll be in so much trouble!”
“My father, Admiral Gideon Brockman, Station Chief of Santa Lucia, just ordered me to gather more intelligence. What better way to find out if the thing between us will work than a weekend trip?”
“To a forbidden location? In a stolen military glider? I don’t think he meant that.”
“Details, details. Tactical operation parameters must always be adjusted to maximize mission success within acceptable risk parameters: Paragraph 17, Section a, entries 2 to 4 of the Naval Officer’s Combat Codebook.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“But I do!” She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss.
* * *
Xavier stood strapped into the center position, rubbing his palms and flexing his long fingers. “Half a soar to atmospheric entry,” he said to Brenton without turning his head. “Ready the decoys.”
“Railgun locked and loaded,” the commander replied. “You have the controls. Fire at will! Let’s hope these scourges haven’t developed much beyond ripping and tearing their foes. At home on Ægir, every child would be able to unravel our disguise.”
“Don’t worry, Brenton,” the pilot replied. “We’re coming in over the southern pole, lots of high altitude discharges from the solar flares. That will mask our signature.”
“How can I not worry? Our entry will be visible across the entire southern hemisphere.”
“And worrying will change that? Even Auto agrees that our plan has the highest chance of success.”
“Great! So what is the probability? Almost one in five?”
“A little over two in six, and you know that, as you signed off on the plan.”
“That makes me feel so much better.”
Over the last three sleep cycles, the two organic occupants aboard the Jörmungandr had, together with Auto, discussed and finalized their plans to land on Ghâsh Zoruk. After Brenton had shared the latest classified intelligence, Auto identified a remote group of islands in the planet’s largest body of water as their target, far from any known primary habitat. A shower of projectiles fired from their forward weapons should simulate a swarm of meteoroids before a blinding ball of fire engulfed their ship.
“Twelve wings to atmospheric entry.” Xavier flicked the safety cover up, his index finger hovering over the red-glowing button. “Firing first barrage in three . . . two . . . one.”
Thirty-six thousand narrow obsidian darts the size of his palm shot forth without a sound. They sailed through the emptiness of space on ever-widening trajectories until they reached the fringes of the atmosphere, creating a brilliant explosion of tiny flames far above the hostile planet.
“Six wings to entry. Second barrage in three . . . two . . . one.”
Brenton tightened his harness. Then he took a silver medallion from his breast pocket and let the shiny metal dance across his dexterous fingers. He’d received the medallion on graduating from the academy and had taken it on every mission since. His gaze remained fixed on the central screen’s countdown.
“OK, Xavier, bring us in,” he said with twenty beats left. “Fly true and strike hard!”
“And you,” the pilot replied, an unusual tremor in his tone, “hunt well, brother!”
The ship rocked twice, yawing on its axis as if it had hit a giant rubber ball at an angle. Then, it rammed into a wall, flinging both voyagers forward. Their harnesses stretched to reduce the negative acceleration, while behind them, cushioning bags exploded to compensate for the recoil. Xavier had taken his hands off the controls prior to impact, folding his arms across his chest in a surrender to elementary physics. Fires blazed outside the thin hull, and the noise of friction was deafening, masking the prayer the pilot muttered under his breath.
The ship bucked and rocked, every surface shook, every strut groaned. The main screen had switched from system stats to an outside view, giving the star-farers the impression of flying into a blast of dragon fire. Time seemed to stretch indefinitely.
Brenton’s muscles screamed in agony. His skull shook, and his teeth rattled until he overcame the instinct to fight the vibrations. Letting his powerful body become boneless, he swayed like a flagpole in a hurricane. His eyesight blurred as the field of vision contracted, and his breathing became labored gasps.
Then it was over. Like cutting through a painted canvas, the inferno vanished, and the surreal vista of a vast ocean under a blue sky opened in front. Whatever the commander had expected to see, that wasn’t it. Altitude and velocity dials popped up on either side of the breathtaking view.
“Xavier?” Brenton croaked. “Look!” His gaze found the pilot slumped over the controls, held in place only by his harness. “Xavier!” Brenton repeated, struggling to unbuckle the restraining belts. Finally free, he rushed to his friend. The pilot’s face was slack, a bruise already forming next to his left eye. His glasses lay splintered, and a drop of blood clung to his split lip. Xavier breathed shallowly, moaning with each exhale.
He must have punched himself, Brenton thought, since nothing else was near his face. He knocked himself out! Suppressing a bout of schadenfreude, Brenton unfastened the harness and guided his friend to the commander’s chair.
“Impact velocity, delta bravo . . .” the pilot muttered. “Need to initiate the low altitude approach . . .”
“I’ve got it from here,” Brenton chuckled. “You did your part. Now sit there and watch.”
It took some time for Xavier to regain full consciousness. He looked around, scanning the screens left to right and back, blinking several times. He couldn’t make out anything; everything was white.
“Glorious void, what’s going on?” he gasped.
“Welcome back,” Brenton greeted. “You’ve missed the show. Earlier, the view was spectacular, but then I had to descend. Be grateful for the dense layer of low fog over the water.”
“Grateful? What? Why?”
“Do you want to hear the bad news first, or shall I start with the really bad news?”
Xavier pushed himself to his feet, swaying as dizziness hit him.
“Easy, old friend, we’re not going to die in the next ten beats.” Brenton flipped the ship’s feed from pilot to screen and stepped off the platform.
“Don’t I get some good news first?”
“Fine. We’re alive, the ship is still in one piece, mostly, and we’re on the right planet. Our target is straight ahead, thirty wings out.”
“Promising,” Xavier replied. “Then, what’s wrong?”
“The islands aren’t as isolated as we thought. There are two large groups of these vile creatures nearby. Not sure if they were approaching our target location, but after the spectacular light show in the sky, they moved on a direct collision course. Thankfully, they travel on floating platforms. They must be unable to fly that far. That gives us some time, but less than we hoped.”
“OK, that’s somewhat bad. What’s really bad?”
“Our sensors don’t work.”
“Damage from entry?”
“No, strong interference. Some kind of radiation, emanating from our destination.”
“How do we navigate?”
“On sight.”
“You’re kidding,” Xavier shrieked. “Well, of course, you’re not. But how do we steer clear of obstacles?”
“Auto uses ultrasound, but the range is pitiful; hence, so is our velocity.” Brenton looked his smaller companion in the eyes. “What do you want to do, Pilot—risk our lives flying blind or risk our lives meeting the owners of this place?”
Chapter Two – Collision
“A common mistake that people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of complete fools.” — Douglas Adams
Monica took Evander to the family manor, since her father was away on a secretive mission. The house was modest for an officer of his standing, but its location was priceless. Sitting atop the ridge that ringed the harbor, the terrace offered a breathtaking view over the bay and the fuzzy line where the sea of city lights met the ocean’s darkness. Monica had excused herself for one minute to shed her stiff officer’s uniform and slip into a loose white t-shirt and bleached jeans. Her auburn hair flowed over her shoulder. Holding two glasses of wine, she stepped with bare feet onto the terrace.
Hearing her approach, Evander pulled his gaze from the city and looked at her, his expression wavering between a smile and a frown. “Not fair,” he said softly, shaking his head as the smile won.
“What? You had a tough day. I thought you might like a drink to relax.”
“Sure,” he chuckled. “On a mild late-summer evening, hovering above the glittering city with a beautiful woman—that clearly isn’t intoxicating enough. Let’s have a drink and relax, and then you hold me in your hands, bending me to your will like the flyer we just left.”
“Oh, Vander, you misunderstand.” She closed the distance, handed him one glass, and stretched on tiptoe to kiss him on the lips. “I’ve had you in my hand since first we met. But still, thank you for the compliment.”
Early the next morning, Monica dropped Evander off near his apartment, allowing him to change into his rarely used uniform and pack a weekend bag. During the short ride across the valley, he couldn’t take his eyes off her, marveling at the ease of her transition from last night’s femme fatale to this morning’s no-nonsense Lieutenant JG Monica Brockman.
Almost like Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde, he mused. They agreed to meet at the base at 0800, giving her time to clear her schedule and arrange for the long-range mission.
“What?” she asked, sensing him staring.
“You’re a bad influence, Lt Brockman.”
“Hmm, I think that was my yearbook caption. You should do more research, Dr. Foss.”
“I will continue my studies at the next opportunity, I promise.”
An hour later, marching up the broad stairs to the Naval headquarters, Evander had to remind himself not to flinch every time someone saluted. Entering the marbled rotunda, he spotted Monica sitting on the desk of the station warden. He approached, and she slid off, straightening her jacket.
“Good morning, Sir,” the sergeant greeted. “Lt Brockman informed me of your arrival. May I see your ID, please, Sir?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Introductions. Evander, this is Sgt Hernesto Fernandez. We went to elementary school together. Hernesto, this is . . .” But the sergeant had gone pale, his eyes fixed on the offered military ID.
“Lieutenant Evander Foss, Cyber Corps . . . It is an honor, sir.”
“At ease, Sergeant. I’m not my father, and I’m in the Army Reserve these days.”
“Of course, Sir. This way, Sir.” The sergeant led the way to the secured entrance for cleared personnel, swiped his badge, and let them step through.
“Wow, he was more impressed with your dad than mine,” Monica said, shaking her head. “And in dad’s building.”
“He probably remembers you flicking boogers at the teachers.”
“I never,” she huffed, “was seen doing it. If this works out,”—she elbowed Evander in the ribs—“our kids will be royalty.”
He almost missed a step.
Leaving the ornate part of the building, they marched through long corridors with sliding steel doors on either side and a maze of pipes and cables under the ceiling until they reached the elevator to the flight deck.
“When were you going to tell me?” she asked, jamming the button three times.
“Tell you what?” he asked. Color crept up his cheeks, his mind still occupied with her earlier joke.
“The surprise, of course.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” he stammered, his mouth dry.
“The new glider!” she beamed. “I was afraid I’d have to wait for months before getting behind the controls. It’s still designated as a prototype, but cleared for all emergency missions.”
“The X7b stealth glider prototype?” he asked, his voice rising as her angle dawned on him. “Was it . . . reserved for a long-range test?”
“Yes, dummy. By top brass. It said ‘Foss/Brockman’ in the journal entry.”
“You can’t be serious!” he groaned as the lift door slid open. “My father will kill me. Kill us!”
“No, he won’t. He’ll be proud, especially if I teach you how to fly it.”
“Please, Earth, open and swallow me.”
“Not a chance; I have you!” She took his hand and pulled him toward the equipment shelves where they would eventually select their flight suits and helmets.
“Low enough?” she asked an hour later as the tear-shaped glider sped mere feet over the ocean’s surface. Droplets of spume from the white-capped waves hit the cockpit’s canopy, while behind them, twin plumes of spray erupted in their wake.
He forced a smile onto his lips and tried to relax his shoulders.
“At this speed, it’ll take us five hours to reach the archipelago. Why don’t you give me a lecture on Paleo-Cogno-Genesis, Dr. Foss?” She flipped the controls to auto and leaned back, an encouraging smile on her lips. He took a deep breath, and she squeezed his hand.
“My uncle found the fossils over a decade ago,” Evander said, his voice lifting over the hum of the engine. “Medium-sized theropods—that means two-legged dinosaurs.”
“I’m not totally ignorant,” Monica smirked, adjusting the flight stick. “I had T. rex PJs when I was small, and you should see my collection of action figures.”
“All right . . . But the skull cavities were massive. And they weren’t scattered. We found complete skeletons buried together, deliberately, alongside traces of refined gold and platinum. The carbon dating was nearly impossible because of the residual alpha radiation in the surrounding rock strata.”
“So your uncle has already been on Kora-Kilauea?”
“No, prospectors found the fossils on Te-Ata-Ahi, an island fifty miles to the west. He led a six-month expedition until the site became part of the restriction zone, preventing further excavation.”
“So, you’re saying that your smart reptiles not only wore gold chains but also used nuclear fission?”
“Even if that were true,” he chuckled. “That wouldn’t be the craziest part of my uncle’s findings. After altering the carbon dating method, he concluded that the fossils were not older than seven to twelve million years. His publication caused quite a stir.”
“Wait a moment. Did your uncle believe that pockets of dinosaurs survived the Yucatan asteroid by more than fifty million years? If that is true . . .”
“There was ample time for intelligence to develop. And given the harsh environmental constraints, survival without some kind of societal structures seems almost impossible.”
“Like in war times.”
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Many fields of technology and society experience an accelerated development in times of war. And your Einsteinus-Rex fought a bitter war for survival.”
They continued to talk for hours. While Monica found the topic fascinating, she loved to see the eager gleam in his dark-brown eyes. His body relaxed, and he gestured animatedly, all flight anxiety forgotten. Even when the weather worsened, and gusts of wind buffeted the glider, Evander didn’t flinch. His eyes remained fixed on her face, feeding on her excitement, until her expression hardened.
“What’s wrong?”
“We have company.” She pointed to the radar screen, where more and more bright dots had appeared.
“Fishing vessels?” he asked.
“Negative. Given our distance, we wouldn’t pick up anything smaller than a frigate. And gosh, look at the numbers.”
“A carrier strike group, then?”
“At least one. Look, there’s a second, smaller group of vessels.”
“Where are they heading?” he asked, and she turned her head with the answer clear to see in her eyes. “You don’t mean . . . Can we listen to their chatter?”
“Not if they use a mission-specific encryption key.”
“Give it a try,” he urged.
Monica’s hand flew over the screen, scanning for open frequencies.
“. . . is your final warning,” a voice, tinny and hollow, commanded. “You have entered a restricted military deep-sea exclusion zone. Identify yourself and alter course, or we will use force.” The signal cut in and out like a radio station on a mountain road.
“What the . . .” started Evander, but Monica shushed him. For long seconds, nothing but static crackle filled the frequency. She banked the glider, turning toward the signal, and lowered the speed until an unmistakable voice answered.
“This is Dr. Corbin Foss, scientific leader of a research fleet under the protection of the Sino-Indian Alliance,” Evander’s uncle said. “Give me my brother. Would you, Sailor?”
* * *
“I don’t believe it,” Evander groaned. “By the holy laws of probability, this can’t be happening!”
Monica had gone as pale as the bank of dense fog ahead. Her hands squeezed the controls, causing the glider to vibrate with her shaking arms.
“That must have been the mission,” she said, her voice a trembling whisper. “Look at that!” Her shaking finger pointed at the radar screen, where more than fifty blinking dots of varying sizes converged on a cluster of six. “Dad brought the entire South-Pacific Fleet. There must be half as many again below the surface. What have we gotten ourselves into?”
His father’s voice prevented Evander from answering.
“This is General Kaelen Foss speaking, DSC, Knight Commander of the Panama-Accord’s Joint Aerospace Strategic Command.”
“Hello, Kaelen,” his twin brother answered. “Long time no see. How’s mother?”
“Unidentified vessels, you have entered a restricted military exclusion zone. Turn now, or we will use force!”
“Oh, Kaelen, is being twenty minutes younger really such a chip on your shoulder?”
“You have been warned. Fire!”
“He didn’t?” Monica asked.
“Oh, yeah. He did! A warning shot—I hope. Turn the glider. We have to get there.”
“And then what? Stage a family intervention?”
“General Foss,” Corbin replied, his tone now cold as ice. “This flotilla operates under the protection of the Sino-Indian Alliance in international waters. We do not recognize your unsanctioned claim of Kora-Kilauea. I’m authorized to answer any further act of hostility with all means available. This is your only warning, brother. Fire!”
They entered the fog. The radio signal cut out.
“What’s going on?” Evander blurted as the instruments went haywire.
“Don’t know. Some kind of interference.”
“It’s the fog. Can you get above it?”
“I’m trying. Controls aren’t reacting.”
“Shall I help pull?” he grabbed her hands.
“Force won’t help; there’s nothing mechanical. See!” Monica moved the flight stick like a ladle stirring soup.
“What do we do?” he shrieked.
“We stay calm, Soldier!” she called with absolute authority. “That’s an order. Autopilot and obstacle avoidance are still active. Look behind my seat. There must be a manual. We have to find the override.” He didn’t move. “The manual, behind my seat, move!”
He blinked rapidly. Then he bent over, straining to reach behind the pilot’s seat. His fingers brushed a leather-wrapped object. He almost had it when Monica yelled, “Fuck!”
Everything happened at once. The hoverjet shot out of the fog bank, and a bizarre object of incomprehensible size streaked across its path. Warning sounds blared. The ship rolled in a desperate maneuver, but the wing on the co-pilot’s side clipped the UFO, sending the glider into an uncontrolled spin. Evander slammed back, his helmet cracking the canopy, bouncing like a pinball. The ship spun faster, pulling the blood from his head, and he lost consciousness. Heartbeats later, the hoverjet crashed into the tropical forest.
A deafening ringing filled Evander’s ears as he woke to hacking coughs racking his chest. Smoke was everywhere, stealing his breath and stinging his eyes. Every muscle in his body hurt, every inch of his skin felt bruised. Relying on half-forgotten training, his right hand found the emergency lever, popping the canopy. A breeze of fresh air cleared his head.
He looked around. Monica slumped over the controls, unconscious. Blood coated her face. He tried to reach her, but his harness restrained him. The wreckage of the glider lay upright on a slope, tilted up and to his side. Giant trees and thick underbrush surrounded them on three sides, broken only by a narrow canyon of destruction behind them. The smoke thickened again, the acrid smell of smoldering plastic mixing with the nauseating aroma of burning hydraulic oil. He had to get out; he needed to get her out before the remaining fuel caught fire.
With fumbling fingers, he searched for the release of his seatbelts. The lock wouldn’t disengage; his weight put too much strain on the metal buckle. Bracing himself with one arm and both knees, he managed to take the pressure off long enough to unlock the harness. He immediately started to slide from his seat. Turning, he reached for Monica’s shoulder strap, striking her chest in his frantic haste.
A flame ignited behind the wing on her side. Evander had to hurry. Pulling himself close, his free hand jammed the release, again and again. The lock wouldn’t open. Her flight suit caught fire. Time was up. He couldn’t get her out. Pulling back, he flipped the safety lid open and punched the eject button. The pilot’s seat exploded out of the cockpit, almost taking his head off.
Twenty minutes later, Evander limped through the forest, turning at every unfamiliar noise. The light was dim, and the jungle teemed with life, crawling and scuttling beneath the eerie call of birds and the howl of monkeys. He felt dizzy, and the uneven ground and thick foliage impeded his progress as he retraced the impact vector, hoping to find Monica’s chute along the way.
After watching her clear the treetops and disappear, he’d jumped from the wreckage, twisting his ankle on impact. The momentum carried him down an incline as the glider above exploded, sending deadly shards of metal in all directions. In a daze, the young man had wrapped his wounds with the med pack from his flight suit. The air was hot and humid. Insects buzzed around, evading his swatting hand to crawl into his ears and nose.
Reaching a circular pond fed by a mountain stream, he sank to his knees and splashed his face. The water felt wonderful, washing away grime, blood, and sweat. He knew he shouldn’t drink from an unknown source, but thirst scorched his throat. Cupping his hands, he brought the cool, clear water to his lips. Then he sank to his haunches, feeling the fatigue and despair catch up as the adrenaline left his body.
For several heartbeats, he just sat there, looking to the tiny patch of sky visible above the clearing until he saw a shadow moving. The brilliant blue provided a stark contrast to the dark shape of an animal circling above. From this angle, it looked pitch black. Two batlike wings lifted an elongated body ending in a spiked tail. Evander rubbed his eyes and shook his head. The creature’s long-snouted head moved as if to search the land below. Then, it went into a dive with a bloodcurdling screech, disappearing from view. One more time, it crossed his field of vision. Propelled by mighty flaps of its wings, it dragged a tattered parachute behind.
* * *
Several wings earlier, the Jörmungandr sliced through the dense fog at a reckless speed. Convinced the ship’s reinforced hull could withstand any collision with unseen obstacles, Xavier had opted for maximizing their repair time before the large groups of hostiles arrived.
“Anything shy of a nuclear blast won’t penetrate our scales at sub-orbital velocity,” he’d declared. Nonetheless, his gaze remained fixed on the useless monitor screens. Brenton assumed the pilot received detailed echolocation signals through Auto’s feed. Still, with every passing beat, the commander’s breathing became more pronounced, and he tapped his long nails in a quickening pattern on the chair’s polished metal armrest.
“There we are,” Xavier shouted, decelerating the ship so rapidly that Brenton slid from his seat, landing in an indignant heap on the deck. They had cleared the fog bank. In front of them, growing larger at an alarming speed, lay the island.
“A little more warning, Pilot!” he grumbled, rubbing his shoulder. Xavier was about to respond when the ship executed an emergency dive. “By Eridani’s fire! What are you doing?”
“Wasn’t me. Something hit us. Look!”
To their right, the monitor showed a shining, silvery object hurtling through the air until it disappeared into the island’s dense vegetation. Xavier shook his head. Brenton, who’d pushed himself upright, blinked several times. They looked at each other, eyes wide.
Then everything went dark.
The lush island vanished in a maelstrom of churning liquid, vaporizing on contact into a blizzard of bubbles. With bone-rattling impact, the ship slammed against the seabed, sending both star-farers flying. Panels shook, and the floor trembled. An ear-splitting grinding reverberated through the hull. Unsecured objects sailed like projectiles across the cabin, cracking a monitor. Alarms blared, and warning lights ignited.
For several beats that felt like an eternity, the ship bucked and groaned before, with a final lurch, the vessel fell still.
“What the clutch just happened?” Brenton asked, picking himself up from the floor again.
“We must’ve hit the seabed,” Xavier replied, prodding a bruise on his head, “sliding the last couple haunts on our belly. We’ve reached our destination, though.” He pointed to the splintered main screen, showing dappled sunlight through a cover of leaves.
“Well, Pilot, not your best landing. But, since we’re still in one piece, mostly, I’ll let this one go.”
“How gracious of you, Commander. I’d like to see anyone do better with ZERO visibility.”
“Let’s suit up, and you can assess the damage you inflicted,” Brenton said in his gruff tone. But a smile tugged on his lips, and he placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Start the repairs, and I’m going to survey the surroundings. That must have been an enemy craft hitting us, right?” he asked, not expecting an answer. “I’ll take the wing pack. If the hostiles survived . . . I’d rather eliminate that threat. You’ll be fine on your own?”
“I’m not a hatchling, Brenton!” Xavier huffed, rolling his long neck, causing the joints to crack. “And I won’t be alone, I have Auto. It already launched a dozen draglets to secure the perimeter.” The pilot pulled the clear obsidate mask over his face, testing the airflow. The moist breath from his nostrils fogged the visor until the heater coils had warmed the smooth surface. “Ready?” he asked, the tone muffled. He looked to Brenton, who’d also put his mask on. Seeing his commander nod, the pilot pulled the escape hatch open and stepped into the airlock.
They had indeed arrived at the island’s beach. Half of the spacecraft still lay submerged in the muddied water. Brenton’s head swiveled as if he were sniffing the air. Several small lifeforms had risen from the vegetation, taking to the air with agitated calls. Eschewing the rungs in the hull, the commander jumped the sixty-span drop to the beach below. His feet sank into the soft sand with a crunch of nails on stone. Xavier did likewise, his lighter body causing less impact. He swiped along the side of his visor, activating the optical feeds from the buzzing draglets.
“No signs of hostile activity,” he said. “Based on my limited knowledge of local technology, I doubt there’s a large probability of their survival.”
“Don’t count them out. These beasts are resilient, else they hadn’t maintained their stranglehold on this planet.” He stepped to the ship’s hull and opened a hidden equipment hatch. “Can you start the repairs with the ship as it lies?” Brenton asked, stepping into the wing pack’s harness.
“I’ll start by purifying the silica and have Auto turn the Jörmungandr seventeen degrees. That should be sufficient to reach tank two.”
“Well, let’s get on with it then.” The commander stepped back ten strides, aided by his bionic leg armor, and unfolded the large aerofoils. Made from a thin membrane of translucent poly-keratin-fiber, they glistened in the sunshine like dragonfly wings.
“You’re sure you’ll be fine on your own?” Xavier asked with a mocking grin. “Want me to come along to stop your tail from getting tangled?”
“I’ll be fine. If these monsters are too scary, I’ll call for help. Sadly, no one else capable is nearby.” With that, Brenton took to the air, sending sand and seaweed flying in the vortex of his wing strokes.
The commander had flown only a few haunts when he spotted the trail of broken vegetation the enemy flyer had carved. To either side, his thermal scanners detected lifeforms moving away from the destruction. Gliding low over the bright green leaves, Brenton wondered if he would manage to descend without getting tangled. If he damaged his aerofoils and had to stride back to the spaceship, Xavier’s laughter would alert the entire planet to their presence.
He spotted a larger gap in the foliage ahead and steered that way when an object came hurtling at him. Banking hard and brushing the treetops, he managed to avoid a midair collision. It wasn’t the entire enemy ship. Only a small block of metal and fabric, propelled by a fiery blast, shot above the vegetation. Two striped wings of circular design caught the wind. Brenton didn’t hesitate. He attacked, sending a concentrated blast of fire. One striped wing dissolved in a puff of smoke, and the object fell into the branches, its sinew getting tangled. Brenton diverted maximum thrust to the wings, straining the actuators to their limits to gain height, before folding the aerofoils for a dive.
He streaked toward the object, talons extended, intending to crush it with his augmented strength—when he spotted a pair of hazel eyes looking up, filled with undisguised and universal fear at the large dragon descending for the kill.
* * *
As soon as Brenton touched down near the spaceship again, Xavier stormed toward him. The smaller star-farer took long strides, dislodging a barrage of polished stones the size of eggs with every agitated footfall. His tail swished left and right, and steam rose from his nostrils, fogging the mask with every breath.
“Did you know?” he screeched, still two dozen strides away.
“Xavier, what’s wrong? Did anything happen here?”
“It certainly did! Something enormous happened right here, on this very island. Did you know?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re fuming about. Help me get this creature inside. It is injured and the radiation . . .”
“Flame the creature!” Xavier bellowed. “I want answers. Did you lead us here on purpose?”
Brenton lowered his cargo onto the rocky beach. Stepping free of the wingpack, he straightened his spine and puffed out his chest. His lips pulled back over rows of razor-sharp teeth, and he put all forty-eight spans of his muscular body between the charging pilot and the whimpering creature.
“Get a grip, Pilot! Stop spouting smoke and tell me what’s going on!”
“I’ll tell you, Commander, right after I cut the lies from your face.” Xavier hissed. The smaller dragon crouched and spread his hands, half-span long claws extending from each of his three fingers. “I’ll only ask one more time: DID YOU KNOW?”
Brenton took a step back, pushing the injured human out of the way with his tail. He, too, crouched, taking a defensive position. Yet his eyes flickered between his erratic friend and the feed Auto projected into his visor. A single, glowing glyph hovered at the center of the display: the ancient rune for ‘Origin.’ Brenton’s eyes grew wide as egg yolks, his mouth stood open, and his arms fell limp, claws retracting.
“By the bones of our forebears,” he wheezed. “This can’t be . . . Is Auto quite sure?”
The sudden and utter change of Brenton’s posture gave Xavier pause.
“You mean you didn’t know?”
“Of course not.”
“If you lie, brother . . .”
“Have you found anything? Any relics?” Brenton asked.
“I hadn’t had time. The repairs took longer with the low-quality silica. But we should go now. With the interference of the radiation, there’s no telling when the hostiles will arrive.”
“Ok, but first we need to get this human into a med unit. We can move one into the research module and fill it with the prevailing atmosphere.”
“Who cares about the human?” Xavier hissed. “This is the final hearth, the last refuge of dragons on this planet. I’m not wasting another beat. Purifying seventeen million cubic spans of hydrogen oxide will take almost an entire sleep cycle. We’ll need every last pulse to search this place.”
“Go ahead then,” Brenton replied. “I’ll take care of this human first. It’s a juvenile, a hatchling. It is injured and in pain.”
“Then eat it and be done with it!”
“Xavier!” Brenton recoiled. “This is not who we are!” he declared with grim finality, picking up Monica and marching to the airlock.
Chapter Three – Discovery
“The impossible often has a kind of integrity to it which the merely improbable lacks.” — Douglas Adams
It took Evander a day and a half to fight his way through the dense tropical forest and reach a cliff overlooking the crescent-shaped bay where the UFO lay half-submerged in the shallow water. In the settling twilight, the object looked less like a machine and more like a colossal creature beached upon the shore. Stretching the length of a city block and rising a dozen stories, its flowing curves and sinuous lines were entirely devoid of the harsh angles one usually associated with a spacecraft. Overlapping plates of a black material covered the hull like scales, absorbing rather than reflecting the dimming light. There were no blinking lights nor any visible antennae, only a smooth, unbroken surface that rose on the back into a double row of protrusions like the spine of a slumbering beast.
Everything was quiet except for the relentless ocean swell washing over the rocky beach. A sense of unease emanated from the immense, alien shape, reminding Evander of crocodiles lying in wait, ready to attack in the blink of an eye. He almost jumped when he spotted movement. Pressing his body to the ground, he pulled binoculars from the backpack he had snatched by chance before the glider exploded. One creature was visible. With its powerful legs, balancing tail, and sharp claws, the creature was the spitting image of the theropods he studied.
A living dinosaur?
He couldn’t judge its size against the incomprehensible flying object, but it looked huge. The scales on its side and back shimmered turquoise; its neck and belly shone white. It wore some kind of facemask, which it lifted to expel a concentrated blast of blue fire, like the flame of a welder’s torch.
A dragon!
The childish thought popped into Evander’s mind, and all his years of academic training proved insufficient to dispel it. He watched in awe as the dragon worked on the spacecraft with tools in its claws, deploying the in-built flamethrower with surgical precision.
Mesmerized, he observed the alien beast until his heart stopped. Monica had limped from a hatch behind it. The light had faded, but the military-grade binoculars offered excellent night vision. Her clothes hung in tatters, and a viscous-green substance covered her exposed skin. Standing near the vile creature, she looked tiny, reaching no higher than the beast’s knee. Patches of a darker material wrapped around her hands and feet, covering her mouth and ears as well.
Manacles? The thought brought his blood to a boil. They stripped her and shackled her like a slave!
He had to save her. He would confront these beasts and free her. The determined young man had risen and made the first step toward a ravine leading down to the beach when the absurdity of his plan gained purchase in the rational side of his brain. How could he confront a dragon? He had no pulse rifle, no combat drones—not even a horse, a lance, and shining armor.
But what else could he do? He wouldn’t hide while the love of his life was trapped in the claws of monsters. He shuddered at the thought of the abuse she must have endured. If she could still stand—bound, bruised, and bloodied, facing an unimaginable nightmare with her back straight—then so could he. Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he started the descent.
Below, the dragon shoved Monica toward a flat stretch of beach. Leaving its captive at the center, the monster circled her with enormous strides. Every couple of steps, the beast halted and sniffed the air, its tail swishing. It dropped small objects and lit them with its fiery breath. Having completed the round, it retreated.
Evander couldn’t believe what he saw. The sun had set, and the first stars peeked through a thin veil of clouds. At the beach, a helpless woman sat in a perfect circle of burning torches. The scene looked surreal, like an occult ritual.
Or a trap, he realized. The dragon had set a trap for him with his lover as bait.
Hastening his steps, Evander slid over loose gravel, wincing from the pain in his injured ankle. A cluster of stunted shrubs grew on a dune between the cliff and the open beach. He crawled on his belly, thorny branches scratching his exposed skin. To his right, at half a mile distance, lay the spaceship, reduced to a mountain of darkness in the faint starlight. To his left, some three hundred feet ahead, burned the circle of torches, with Monica motionless at its center. He couldn’t make out her face in the flickering shadows. She appeared to have her head bent, her eyes downcast. Evander couldn’t see any dragons. They were probably already on him, having smelled his fear. A shiver ran through his body, imagining their foul breath on his neck. Gathering what strength he had left, he pushed himself upright and ran. Spikes of pain shot through his leg on every stride.
“Monica!” he shouted, fear and agony stoking his fury. “MONICA!” His voice cracked, sounding shrill. He was done hiding; he was done worrying. He needed to be with her. He needed her to know that he was near, that he was coming for her, that she wasn’t alone. Sixty feet separated him from the hateful trap that had reminded him of ritual virgin sacrifices in gruesome tales. She jumped to her feet, rushing toward him. Thirty feet . . . twenty . . . ten . . .
An otherworldly shriek tore through the night. The dragon charged in giant leaps, its eyes glowing like embers in the dark. Evander seized Monica, holding her tight. His body trembled; her chest rocked with heaving sobs. For a blissful fraction of a second, nothing mattered but the warmth of her body and the smell of her hair. But their gaze was drawn back to the approaching monster.
Evander turned, pushing his lanky body between Monica and the incomprehensible beast. The dragon screeched again. Bracing for the deadly attack, the trembling man squeezed his eyes shut when another blood-curdling roar—deeper, louder, and closer—answered from behind.
* * *
The light was so bright, it hurt his eyes. Evander sat hunched over, his hands on his knees, shaking. His stare was blank, and his head swayed left and right while tentacles of flexible glass cleaned and sealed his wounds. Minutes had passed, or hours, he couldn’t tell.
“You were right, Vander. Can you believe it? All your theories, and more. Here, in this remote corner, some dinosaurs survived and evolved into a species far more advanced than humans are today.” Monica paced the cavernous room, bubbling like a mountain stream. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shone brighter than Venus. The green substance he’d seen covering her had grown into a second skin that seemed to ripple with an iridescent sheen, obscuring and revealing the lines of her body in a way that felt both beautiful and unnervingly alien. She was there, just ten feet away. But she might have been in a different galaxy. Nothing made sense.
The med-bot sprayed a cold liquid onto Evander’s back, and he winced from the burning sensation. Monica halted in her exuberant exclamations and looked at him, her head tilted. Seeing his vacant expression, she stepped closer, her smile trembling.
“Vander,” she whispered.
He snatched her arm, holding on with almost painful strength.
“Is this real?” he growled, his jaw clenched and his muscles vibrating.
Monica knelt before him, placed her free hand on his cheek, and moved her face so close that it filled his entire field of vision.
“This is real, Vander. You are real, I am real, and the space-faring theropods are real, too, dummy,” she laughed. When his face didn’t soften, she moved closer, gently pressing her lips against his, letting him feel her soothing touch, her reassuring warmth, her presence.
“How?” he croaked after she pulled back. “They’re dragons! Why are we still alive?”
“Because these dragons aren’t the vile beasts of our fairy tales. And luckily, we”—she pointed to him and herself—“aren’t the worst of our species either. Call it a cosmic coincidence, or fate, or dumb luck. But we’ve made peaceful contact with an alien intelligence.” She started to rise, but he tightened his hold on her arm.
“Don’t go!” he blurted, his lips trembling.
“I’m here, Vander. I won’t leave you. I won’t lose you again, ever! I promise.” Her change in tone pulled him from his despondent state. He raised his gaze and saw a tear running down her cheek.
“When I woke, after my seat ejected,” she whispered, “I saw this enormous creature streaking down, claws extended. I knew I would die. But all I could think of was how sorry I felt for dragging you into this. You trusted me, and I let you down. Can you forgive me?”
Pushing the surgical apparatus aside, he rose to his feet and seized her in his arms. He held her tight, intending never to let go. But too soon, the door slid open, and Xavier entered.
Evander turned, his muscles stiffening. She squeezed his hand. Wiping the moisture from her eyes, Monica stepped around him and raised what looked like a black turtleneck scarf over her mouth and ears.
“Communication device,” she explained, her tone muffled. “They grew them for us.”
The dragon uttered a series of high-pitched screeches and held out his claw where another scarf dangled from his finger.
Monica approached and took the offered object with a bow, muttering, “Thank you!”
The dragon stood rigid as if carved from stone. Only his tongue flicked in and out between his teeth, and the wicked claws on his middle toe tapped an agitated rhythm.
“One . . . two . . . test . . . Can you hear me?” She said under her breath after fastening the communicator around Evander’s neck.
“Yes.”
“Good. You only need to whisper.”
Xavier screeched, louder this time, and a robotic voice in Evander’s ear said, “Come along.”
“Is that the dragon’s . . .” he asked. “I mean, is this his voice, or hers?”
“No, that is Auto, their ship’s intelligence translating for us. His name is Xavier.” She pointed to the dragon. “He’s the pilot. The larger dragon who grabbed me is Brenton. He’s the commander.”
Xavier screeched again. “Come now,” Auto translated.
“We should go,” she urged. “I’ll explain more on the way.”
They followed Xavier through a labyrinth of tunnels. Evander felt like a microbe navigating the veins of some colossal, bio-mechanical beast. Strands of a black material spread in an irregular pattern along the walls, like tree branches, the spaces between filled with glowing panes of obsidian. The floor felt soft as mud and held the shape of their footprints for several heartbeats. Despite all the shock and awe Evander had experienced since arriving on the island, he stumbled when he first realized that he saw an actual dinosaur leaving prints. Monica, who had followed his gaze, chuckled.
“I told them that you studied their ancestors or cousins, but Auto messed up the translation.”
“In what way?”
“They now believe that you revere their ancestors as deities.”
“That’s horrible. If the dragons ask me to perform some kind of ritual . . .”
“Kidding!” she grinned.
“How can you joke in moments like this?!”
“It’s called HMTR—Humor-Mediated Threat Response, or as laymen call it, gallows humor. Must be a hereditary disorder, since I got it from my father.”
“I’m not going to ask if that is even remotely true.”
“Good, because it’s time to meet Commander Brenton.”
They entered the bridge. Xavier stepped aside, granting Evander his first good look at the creature that had snatched Monica. Covered in bright-red scales, the dragon stood twenty feet tall. Its chest was twice as broad as the pilot’s, and its triangular head sported horns. The dragon uttered three low barks, showing rows of menacing teeth.
“Welcome, hatchling, and welcome mate of hatchling,” Auto translated. “We found what was hidden, and humans should know of it. Come along quickly.”
Xavier used his tail to nudge a bundle toward them.
“Actuators,” Monica explained, handing Evander a pair of strange, three-fingered gloves. “To interface with Auto.”
A cold shiver ran down Evander’s spine as he slipped the alien equipment onto his hands. They felt warm and supple, like leather, and emitted gentle pulses of electricity.
The dragons had already stepped through the hatchway, waiting outside for the humans to follow. Brenton was strapping on a harness.
“You must climb up,” Auto translated his call.
“Hard to keep up with their strides, I guess,” Monica muttered, her face a little pale. Evander helped her climb into the rigging and followed. He had just managed to put his legs through the straps when Brenton lurched forward. The world swayed, and stones crunched underneath as the dragon’s muscles launched his massive body into a brisk trot. Evander pressed himself against the smooth scales, feeling a smoldering heat emanating from deep inside. A musky smell, mixing with the scent of charcoal and copper, filled his nose. He looked at Monica and saw her lips pressed together in apprehension while wonder shone in her eyes.
Both dragons strode up the incline that Evander had descended earlier to rescue Monica. Atop the cliffs, Xavier went ahead, continuing further inland through a broad trail they must have carved earlier.
Reaching a mountain, both dragons spread out. They clambered up the slope, dislodging deer-sized boulders until they reached a circular plateau, covered in ash and the charred stumps of burned trees. Deep gouges marred the earth. To his left ran a canyon of destruction through the underbrush. The dragons must have shoved a heavy object aside and sent it rolling down the hill.
A cave opened in the sheer mountainside, its entrance pitch-black. Xavier stepped forth and emitted a mighty blast of fire. The flame washed over the walls, seeming to sink into the rock itself. A moment later, crystal veins in the tunnel’s smooth surface began to glow, providing enough illumination for the dragons to stride on. The tunnel turned and twisted, leading deep into the mountain. Twice more, Xavier charged the crystals with his fiery breath. Then they came to a huge domed hall, at least one hundred fifty feet across. Brenton ignited a torch on the wall, and the fire leaped from it, racing along the perimeter from one sconce to the next until the flames bathed the entire hall in flickering light.
“See for yourself, Human,” came Auto’s translation of Brenton’s low growl. To Evander, the dragon sounded different—the deep, resonating call carried a somber note, almost mournful. “Behold what was hidden for half a millennium and is hidden no longer.”
A monument dominated the middle of the cave, made of black marble and obsidian. Larger than life stood a dragon and a human, clasping hands. Evander clambered off Brenton’s back.
“May I approach?” he asked.
“Go and see, as we have seen,” the dragon replied. “Read and learn, as we have learned. So you can go and tell, as we will tell.”
Evander took Monica by the hand, and they approached. The marble dragon looked ancient, its physique slim like Xavier’s, yet bowed with age. In contrast, the human stood proud, matching the dragon in height. It was the image of a soldier in uniform. Inscriptions ran around the plinth in many different languages and alien scripts. Monica found the English text and called out, her voice choked.
“Vander, look what it says . . . ‘In the year 1945 – in a world on the brink of darkness’ . . .”
He stepped around and saw her holding her hand to her mouth in shock. Then he read. He read again, and he read a third time.
“It can’t be,” he muttered. “They left, and they left us . . .”
His ears rang, and a metallic taste filled his mouth. The world started spinning. Swaying like a drunken sailor, he reached one arm toward Monica, trying to steady himself. Yet his knees gave out, and he crumpled to the stone floor.
* * *
“Evander, can you hear me?” Monica’s voice swam in and out of focus. He tried to open his eyes, but the bright light hurt. Licking his lips, he felt someone squeeze his hand. “Wake up, Vander,” she said. “We’re safe, we’re going home.”
“Where am I?” he croaked.
“In the landing shuttle of the dragon’s spaceship. Pilot Xavier has finished the repairs, and Commander Brenton wanted to wait for you to regain consciousness before launching.”
“Blood pressure steady, heart rate rising,” a mechanical voice droned. “Breathing too shallow.”
“Are you functional, Human?” Auto’s voice asked, more agitated and accompanied by a glowing red light next to the loudspeaker.
The word ‘human’ cracked the dam in Evander’s mind, and a flood of memories rushed in—the islands, the dragons, the cave . . . And the secret! He jerked bolt upright, pulling tubes and sensors with him in a tangle.
“Easy, Vander, you hit your head hard.”
“If you are functional, Human, we will initiate departure,” Auto’s voice continued.
“Wait a minute,” he stammered, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Where are you taking us?”
“We selected the island of Te One, a location near a secondary habitat, called Auckland, three thousand nautical miles to the east, where we will leave you. The shuttle’s com unit is capable of interacting with human radio wave technology. You may contact your kind after we’ve reached orbit.”
“No,” Evander shouted, squeezing his eyes shut as a jolt of pain stabbed into his brain. “Please, we need to fly north.”
“Impossible!” the voice replied. “We detected large groups of hostiles . . .” A sudden pause. “We detected large groups of human floating platforms to the north. Direct contact is inadvisable. You will be able to contact your kind after we’ve reached orbit.”
“Please, Commander Brenton,” Evander started, swallowing hard. “We need to go north.” He coughed, and Monica handed him a translucent pouch.
“Drink,” she urged, and he obliged.
“Why do you say that, Human?” the voice asked.
“Because we need your help to avert a catastrophe.”
Silence.
Evander looked around. They were alone in a brightly lit oval chamber the size of a tennis court. Someone had placed him on a raised platform made from obsidian. He wore an iridescent skin suit and black actuator socks. Monica had braided her auburn hair, and deep shadows under her eyes provided a stark contrast to her pale skin. She looked at him, questioning.
“Explain!” the voice commanded.
“The floating platforms you speak of are heavily armed military vessels from two rival clans. When we approached in our glider, we witnessed them posturing and threatening each other over territory, believing this island held wealth and power. They were wary of each other’s strength. But if a spark ignites that flame—if they fight—their weapons could destroy the entire planet.”
“And why should we care?” the speaker blared.
“Because your ancestors saved humankind in our hour of need, Commander Brenton.”
Monica shook her head, pointing to the wall panel transmitting the sound. Its light had switched from red to turquoise. “It’s Xavier,” she mouthed, and Evander nodded.
“I cannot express how grateful we are for the selfless gift of your noble ancestors, Pilot Xavier. To abandon their home forever in order to prevent conflict and bloodshed—that is a debt mankind can never repay. But beyond their unimaginable sacrifice, your ancestors trusted some humans with the technology to end The Great War. They prevented the extinction of our civilization.”
“But as you must see now, Human, the ancient ones misplaced their trust!” The light flickered with every word. “They broke our most sacred tenet of non-interference—and for what? In the brief moment of your dominance, you poisoned the very world we surrendered to you.”
“Humans have many flaws,” Evander agreed. “Some of our kind must be regarded as the most vicious predators ever to walk this Earth. But many are good and peace-seeking.” He took a deep breath. “Right now, a few dozen miles to the north, two powerful packs of irate hunters circle each other with teeth bared and claws extended. They have the power to throw the world into a darkness more devastating than the great Yucatan asteroid.” He stood and walked toward the turquoise light.
“Fly past them, I beg you,” he said, his eyes burning with determination. “Show these humans how petty their squabbles are in light of the secret that is no longer hidden. Give them pause with the awe of your mighty ship, long enough for them to hear the truth we have witnessed.
“If you drop us in their midst, I promise to dedicate my life to telling what must be told, so that mankind will forever remember the courage and the selfless acts of kindness of Pilot Xavier Hephayiós of Clan Quyra and Commander Brenton III. Zarkon of Clan Joric.”
Epilogue – Six Months Later
“He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream, and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.” — Douglas Adams
“Stop fiddling with your tie!” Monica admonished, swatting at his hands.
“The collar is too tight,” Evander replied.
“It’s not; it’s tailored.”
“Perhaps, but tailored too tightly.”
“That’s what tailored means, dummy.”
He took a deep breath, and with a sigh, he sank back into the pristine leather upholstery of the private shuttle. The flyer zoomed noiselessly over a landscape of a thousand lakes that separated Stockholm from the Baltic spaceport in Göteborg. The sun was already setting in the west, glowing red like a dying star through the tinted windows.
“Do you have my speech?” he asked, his fingers itching to pull on his shirt’s collar.
“No! I burned it and threw the ashes into Lake Vättern since last you asked—two minutes ago. Honestly, Vander, you’re expected to talk about the dragons, not fight them.”
“I know. I will be facing a much more ferocious beast: The Fellow Scientist.”
Monica shook her head and pulled on the hemline of her glittering black dress.
“Stop fiddling,” he laughed. “You look beautiful!”
She smiled and took his hand.
“This night is for you, Vander,” she whispered. “Enjoy it!”
“Easier said than done. You’re not the youngest recipient of the Humboldt-Darwin-Medal for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Natural History since its inception four hundred years ago. I will have to talk to the royal families of Norway and Sweden.”
“Yes, and they’re just humans. Besides, they’re old—a far cry from this species’ most dangerous specimens. You faced off with two dragons. Remember that: TWO DRAGONS.” Her eyes blazed with fervor. “You came to save me, Vander!”
“I was injured at the time, clearly not thinking straight,” he chuckled. “But I’ve wondered ever since . . .” She raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips.
“Wasn’t it astonishing how much they knew about us, as a species? They set a trap for me, using you as bait . . . That requires a profound understanding of human psychology.”
She coughed.
“How did they even know about me?” he wondered. “You said they didn’t hurt you, right?”
“Uhm, Evander . . .” she mumbled, using his full name. “Don’t be angry, OK?”
“Why would I . . . ?”
Her lip trembled, and she lowered her gaze. “About that trap . . .”
He looked at her for several heartbeats, his head tilted, and his lips parted, until his eyes widened in disbelief.
“Oh, no! You didn’t,” he gasped.
“I had convinced Brenton to look for you. I actually yelled at him,” she explained in a rush of words. “But in the dark, on an unknown island, in the dense tropical forest . . . I knew you would come for me. I knew it! Please, Vander.”
“You knew I would rush to your aid, like a knight in shining armor, and confront two vicious space-dragon-dinosaurs the size of troop carriers?”
“Vander, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I was so worried about you.”
“Still, you were convinced that I would risk my life for you? No, that’s not strong enough. You thought I would throw away my life just to be with you?”
“Yeah. Kinda . . .”
“Wow!” He fell back into his seat, his neck against the headrest, and his eyes on the ceiling.
“Are you angry?” she asked when he had remained quiet for long heartbeats.
“Unbelievable!” he mumbled, shaking his head.
“Please, Vander . . .”
Taking a deep breath, he turned, and his gaze bore into her. A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Monica Jane Brockman,” he said, his voice trembling. “You have forced me to charge invincible foes like a hero of old.”
She opened her mouth, but he raised his hand, stopping her.
“You have confronted me with an unimaginable challenge—giving me the chance to prove myself to you. Generations of historians will speak of this deed; bards will sing about it,” he smiled. “Our children, our grandchildren, and their grandchildren will hear the tale of brave Squire Evander Foss and the heroic rescue of his wicked damsel in distress.”
With that, he pulled her close, and they kissed.
© 2026 Axel Martens All rights reserved.
“Behind Enemy Lines” was first published by Axel Martens in Project Witchcraft in January 2026.
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