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

to the show she’d put on back in Home. Like any great stage performer, she did not attempt to stymie the bubbling kettle of nervous fear inside her. Instead, she channeled it into her act, using it as fuel. She moved like the music itself and brought every member of her audience along for the ride as one song bled into the next.

Ratt maintained his position up in the recently constructed catwalks above the stage, working the lights and preparing for the grand finale.

Lucy was in the DJ booth, waiting, pretending to be working.

In actuality, the whole show came from Maya’s Strange—the sounds, the music, everything. The music itself was, for all intents and purposes, a type of spirit that she channeled. It was archetypal, archaic. She was the goddess of song and drew her musical accompaniment from the collective subconscious of humankind. She functioned as a medium for the music and directed its flow like a conductor. It was no wonder that her persona, Lily Sapphire, was the most popular act in the land. Every bit of her show was drawn from the desires and dream-pleasure centers of the listeners. Her music touched them each deeply. All were delighted by her showmanship and eternal beauty as well as her spell.

As she summoned, channeled, and directed the music, Maya as Lily pranced, danced, pouted, and captivated. All were enchanted. All were completely oblivious to the fact that she was slowly working an enchantment of a different kind throughout the show. A grand ritual was being pieced together slowly but surely.

17

Jon and Carbine could hear the music in the city from their position up the small mountain almost as well as if it had been coming from within their camp. They had been watching the stage with great anticipation since Maya’s last transmission from the green room.

“Okay, boys… it's showtime,” she had said, and with that, Jon had set himself into motion. He double-checked the clasps and buckles on his body armor, re-tightened the laces on his side-zips, and lifted his hammer. Its textured grip felt good in his hands and soothed his nerves.

Carbine got into the most comfortable position he could and sat, railgun at the ready, hood up to block out any wind, dust, or distraction from his sniper focus.

The second after the music bounced up the canyon and landed in their ears, the two friends spoke their farewells.

“Good luck, buddy,” Carbine said from under his hood.

“Same to you,” Jon said, ignoring the sense of dread in his mind after speaking, and hoping the mods Ratt had made to Carbine’s rifle before departing did the trick.

If the plan failed and everything went to shit, it was very likely that Carbine would be the only one of them to survive, given the distance between him and New Puebla, but how long he would survive on his own, Jon could not say.

“Don’t worry, Jon. I’ve got your back,” Carbine said again from under the sniper’s hood, his eyes never leaving the scope of the railgun. There was a hint of uncharacteristic seriousness in his voice.

“You always have.”

In between the spoken words lay a silent “Thank you” and “You’re my best friend.”

Jon didn’t have to say it. He knew Carbine knew it. Without another word, Jon was sprinting down the side of the mountain, leaping over small boulders and swathes of prickle-bush. His heightened strength and reflexes made him every bit as agile as a mountain cat, every bit as strong as a mountain bear. He felt invincible and god-like, every bit the equal of the vampiric titans in the city below. He felt alive.

Between the cover of darkness and the distraction of the concert, Jon was not worried about being spotted as he traversed his way down the slope and then across the valley floor. He didn’t even attempt to be stealthy. Time was of the essence. He had to make it to the city gates before the finale, hopefully before. With every step in his long stride, he grew more exhilarated. The voice, that voice he’d first heard the day after graduation, the voice that had changed his life, sang to him through his earpiece and called him to the city like a siren. He would not fail her. Not tonight, not ever.

Jon ran on through the darkness, with Maya providing the soundtrack to his sneak attack. As he approached the city, he could see the outlines of the sentries up on the wall.

Far fewer than normal, Jon noted, happy that they had correctly guessed that the Lily Sapphire concert would draw many away from their responsibilities. Jon continued his run, only slightly slower as he crouched down some, rolling his back and doing his best to reduce his profile. He changed his straight-line approach to a strategic zig-zag, moving from one scraggly bush to the next. When he came to the last bunch of branches before the one-hundred-yard open space around the city walls, he paused. Even in the dark, he could see the sentries.

He slowly scanned the ridge-line of the wall. There were at least four that were in a position to spot him; the others were too far away. There may be more, perhaps sitting down, he had no way of knowing for sure, but he and Carbine had done a preliminary scan with the railgun’s scope before Maya had started the show. That search had revealed no surprises behind the ramparts or rudimentary guard shacks that dotted the perimeter of the city like fence posts along a cattle pen. He could only hope that things remained the same now as then, and if they had changed, he could hope that Carbine would notice them before they noticed Jon.

Jon squinted into the night and studied the two sentries closest to his location.

Can it be? Jon was amazed at their luck. Perhaps the masters of New Puebla had grown lax from years of success and survival. There were few beasts from the Drops stupid enough to attack