Hostile Genus: An Epic Military Sci-Fi Series (Invasive Species Book 2) by Ben Stevens (historical books to read TXT) 📕

New Breed, my ass.

“Keep quiet and stay alert. Let me do the talking,” Martin snapped.

“Sir! Yes, sir!” the private responded, and Martin heard telltale rustling sounds as the kid sloppily readied his Lawnmower.

Martin gave one last glance down to the N-tab he carried, the one on which he had first been contacted, and confirmed the red dot blinking on its topographical map display was indeed just a few meters in front of him.

Showtime.

The forest floor below them began to slope downward into a grade that beckoned them toward what seemed to be some sort of pit. The canopy of tree branches above became so thick as to completely block out the frosted white light. Martin’s mind made cave associations as he and Private Nguyen descended the slope to the edge of a small glade, no larger in circumference than an office in the administrative levels of the Zigg.

Martin’s eyes darted back and forth between the blinking dot on his N-tab and the glade, which appeared to be empty of both trees and people. He had come to the right location, but there was no one here.

Entering the clearing itself, Martin and Nguyen instinctively positioned themselves at each other’s backs, as they turned in place to survey their surroundings. They were enclosed by thick, gnarled trees on all sides as well as above, so much that Martin could barely see the path he and his ward had taken. Surrounded, but alone.

“It would seem that we have been played for fools,” Martin grumbled, his words carried into the frigid air on puffs of steaming breath.

“Great,” Nguyen said. Despite the kid’s ceaseless grumbling over their three-day journey, Martin did not scold the young man. Their gamble on the promise of help had now proved to be a colossal waste of time. There was much to do in Lincoln. Shelters and defense fortifications needed to be built. A new chain of command had yet to be fully established. If the Old Guard ever wished to realize their dream of re-establishing the Republic, they would first have to survive the winter, waiting for new crops to be planted in spring, and then become as mighty as Home had once been. He had no time for games like this.

“Blast it all to hell,” Martin said, scowling. “Let’s get out of here. We may yet be able to make it to the Farm road before nightfall.”

“I told you to come alone,” a voice called out from somewhere in the thick trees.

Martin and Nguyen spun about, alarmed, scanning their surroundings once more.

“Enough games!” Martin shouted, his anger rising. “Show yourself!”

“Relax, Major. I am here,” the voice said.

Just to the left of Martin, the air began to shimmer. Realizing immediately that the effect was not simply the refraction of lantern light off of ice crystals suspended in the air, Martin and Nguyen leaped back. Reflexively, Martin’s hand shot down to his hip, and with a flick of his thumb, unfastened the nylon strap that bound his sidearm to its holster.

“Jumpy, are we?” the voice said, clearly originating from the shimmer hovering before them.

The scintillation grew in intensity and then appeared to dissolve. An image, no, a true presence of a man appeared in its place.

“Active camouflage!” Martin heard Nguyen gasp.

“I had to know that I was safe first, that I could trust you.”

“You?” the major asked, unable to believe his eyes.

“Yes, me. I have been in hiding, watching, ever since,” the man said, flashing the soldiers a wry smile.

“We thought you were dead,” Martin said.

“And I thought you were going to come alone,” came the snappy response.

Martin ignored the jibe and quickly moved to change the subject.

“Well, now that I know who you are, your promise of salvation seems a bit more credible. I came, so you know I’m willing to hear you out. Although I’m not sure why we couldn’t have met in a more reasonable location.”

“As I said in my communique, secrecy is of the utmost importance. If anyone in Maya’s, or rather, Lily Sapphire’s circle even so much as gets a whiff of what I am plotting, it will fail. I brought you out here so I could test you, to ascertain your trustworthiness, or to see if the Loyalists need a different leader.”

Martin narrowed his eyes and remembered the pistol, still resting in its unfastened holster.

“You know I respect you, I just made that clear. But I do not like your tone. Or your choice of words. That sounded like a threat just now.”

“Take it however you will. I care not for your pride or your life. The Republic is much bigger than one man.”

Martin could see what he meant, but he still didn’t like what had been implied.

“I think you may have things a little backwards,” Martin dared. “You see, I am the leader of the Old Guard, and I am here to figure out if I can trust you.”

The Provocateur waved his hand dismissively and smiled. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Nguyen shifted uncomfortably, an unconscious gesture that made Martin aware that this banter was fruitless, and besides, it was growing cold.

“Enough of this pissing match. Say what you brought me here for,” Martin demanded, relaxing his posture some—a tacit olive branch, but he kept his pistol ready. “Tell me your plan for defeating the insurgents.”

“Very well. It is simple. We won’t defeat the insurgents.”

Martin scowled. Has he lost his mind? Did the sorceress taint him somehow? “What nonsense is this?” he growled.

“Listen, Major. We won’t defeat them. We will arrange for them to defeat themselves.”

The electric lamp cast the Provocateur’s face in a strange glow, giving him an otherworldly appearance. His widening grin only served to accentuate the unnerving qualities of the man and the situation.

“I’m listening,” Martin said, prompting him to continue.

“You see, you are all making the mistake of assuming Maya and her rebels think as we do. That they are military. That their goals are military goals. They are not.”

Before Martin could ask what the Provocateur meant