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

better than she knew herself, having spent all those many years side by side with her. Only now, he had to convince her that what he saw in her was real and good.

“Candy,” Miller began, his voice rich and dark, like the black coffee customers of Candice’s café loved. “That’s jus’ the thing. You have exactly the kind of qualifications the council needs right now. We want equal representation. A voice for everybody. We already had a stratocracy, and you saw how that worked out. What we need now is someone on the council to represent every diverse group that’s in Home.”

“And you want me to what? Represent the food workers of the world?” Candy asked, her mouth twisted to one side.

“C’mon, nah,” Miller scoffed, “I want you to speak for the former Republic citizens that wasn’t in the field. All the people of the Zigg that had support jobs. The ones that never had a voice befo’.”

Candice cast Miller a jaundiced look but held her tongue. Seeing her defenses weaken, Miller moved in for the kill.

“We have members from the Shanty, Human and Displaced. We have military, one from every division.”

“Well, yeah, that makes sense,” Candice said, her voice quiet and full of doubt.

“The point is, not only do you fit that requirement— support— you are one of the most compassionate and caring people I ever met. We could use a touch of that. Please. Don’t make me beg, girl.”

Candice closed her eyes, sighed, and slowly shook her head.

“Okay, okay. Fine. I guess I could use a break from pouring coffee. Wait! You aren’t going to make me pour coffee for the council, are you?”

Miller laughed and stood up. “Perish the thought. You’re a bona fide councilwoman now.”

“Yikes. That’s not helping,” Candice said, grimacing.

“C’mon. Let’s get up there. Everyone’ll be waiting.”

Miller and Candice left the café and strolled through the once idyllic corridors of the Zigg’s residential sections. Much had changed, but just as much had remained the same. It had only been a few weeks since Warbak’s attempted Harvest, the Purge, and his fall, and every day of those few weeks, men and women like Miller had worked without rest, trying to hold back the rising tide of chaos. Miraculously, they had managed, just barely, to prevent everything from spiraling into a complete mess. They had organized patrols, managed to keep the water and power on, begun work on a hierarchy, a chain of command, and gathered the best and brightest of those who remained and were now attempting to flesh out their impromptu council, the acting government body of New Home. Unfortunately, most of the officers had left with the Old Guard, and every day, Miller was feeling the loss of that skill and experience. He had the men but lacked leadership. Boys like Quiteke had stepped up, but they just weren’t quite ready for what lay ahead.

But they gon’ have to be… If only Jon and Maya would return. What’s taking them so damn long?

Even if the golden pillar of mystical light and the hidden fortress it marked lay on the other side of the globe, they all had figured Maya and her guardians would be back Home within a week, two at the most. But days had turned to two weeks, and still no sign or word from them. Concern had turned to worry after the first week, and now a low-grade panic was knocking at the door. Miller had sent out tropiscopic radio signals every night, signals that would bounce off the ionosphere and go over the horizon. The transport that Maya had left in was equipped with a working receiver and transmitter, so although Miller was unable to ring them up, they should have received his nigh-continuous loop-broadcast, if they were monitoring, and gotten back to him by now.

The fact that they hadn’t meant one of three things—that they had gone farther over the globe than anyone anticipated, that their equipment was broken, or that something worse had befallen them. Miller had even gone so far as to question the foreign girl, Wyntr, to try to ascertain just how far away this “Morning Star” was. The child’s story remained consistent, and the girl insisted that she had walked to Home. Which meant, based on all the old maps of Earth-Before-The-Storm that they had in the Vault, that Maya and crew’s destination was in the same hemisphere, if not the same continent, as Home.

Please, be alive. Please hurry back. I can’t do this without you. Miller kept his dark thoughts about the goddess and her inner circle close to his chest, but knew that everyone else would notice Maya’s absence and figure it out eventually. They would soon have to face the reality that they were alone in this. Hence the call to form and make official the ruling council.

After entering and riding one of the elevators that bordered the open core of the Ziggurat, Miller and Candice stepped out into the upper level, formerly occupied by Warbak’s Ministry of Social Purity, now requisitioned as the command center for the Council of New Home.

Ahead of them stood a pair of closed wooden doors, pre-Storm, thick, heavy, and classy. Flanking the doors stood two soldiers, their sex unknown, obscured by full-body armor of the kind worn by the Heavy Infantry. Miller raised a knife-hand in salute and was greeted by brisk salutes back.

“As you were,” Miller said, strolling up to them with Candice in tow. The soldiers both silently executed a left and right face respectively and opened the ancient doors.

“General Miller.” An elderly woman’s voice announced both his arrival and new rank to the room as he and Candice stepped in.

“To-Kan,” Miller responded, nodding in the woman’s direction. Before showing Candice to her seat and taking his own, he stood for a moment and took in the room and the assembly of councilors in it.

There was To-Kan, matron of the Vault. Long had she been with the Resistance, and equally long was her memory.