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

“In other matters: have there been any developments with the Engine?”

Glyer hesitated and seemed to curl in on himself, twisting in place, appearing to shrink, even as his snake-tail grew fatter.

“I asked you a question, Glyer. I would appreciate an answer.” Umbra poured himself a second glass of the spiced wine.

“I’m sorry, my lord. The news is not good.”

“When is it ever?” Umbra asked, more to himself than to Glyer, and sipped again from the goblet. “Well? Out with it.”

“With the losses we accrued in Home, the souls we failed to harvest, our Strange reserves are at an all-time low. We lack the quintessence needed to power the experimental mecha. Furthermore, all attempts to correct the malfunction have failed.”

Umbra sighed and closed his double-irised eyes. Setting the half-drunk goblet down, he stood and stretched his neck. Taking over the universe was such tedious business, but even on a bad day, it was far better to rule in Hell than to serve in Heaven.

He had expected the news about the Engine to be as such. Losing the harvest of Home had been a great setback. He needed those souls to power the second wave of his long-term plan. But even if he had managed to collect, what good would an army do him in Hell, if he was as trapped in it like everyone else?

“How did you do it, dear brother?” he muttered out loud.

Glyer looked up to him from his coiled position on the floor, just for a second, and then snapped his gaze back to the floor when Umbra turned to him.

“I’m beginning to grow concerned, Glyer. If the faux goddess does not bring him to the Morning Star safe and sound, then we are back to square one.”

Without vocalizing his agreement, Glyer nodded his head slowly.

“Contact our agent, remind her how important it is that she be honest with us. Send out the drones, scour the land. Find Maya and her ship. If they haven’t arrived yet, then something must have happened to them. Find them, and report back. If we have to, we will take them and bring them there ourselves.”

“As you command, my lord,” Glyer said, and rose, making to depart.

“I have not dismissed you, fool. There is more. I hope you are taking notes.”

Glyer slurped and brought his palms together, bowing.

“We have to begin planning for a contingency. While we lack the firepower to re-take Home as is, things have begun to develop that may ensure that we can still harvest what is ours.”

Glyer perked up at this, watching Umbra pick his goblet back up and begin to pace back and forth along the narrow side of the embedded steam-pool.

“My eyes in Home have shown me that the might of the Republic is already split in half, and furthermore, I have good reason to believe that what’s left in the Ziggurat will soon become even weaker than it already is. A storm is brewing in Home. I almost couldn’t have planned what is to unfold better myself.”

“Sounds promising, my lord,” Glyer said.

“Indeed. We will be watching the coming events with great interest. In the meantime, send another volunteer into the Labyrinth. Find me the Hermit. If we can have him, then I may not need the Anvil after all.”

“It will be done.”

“That is all. Go, do as I commanded and report back when you have finished,” Umbra said, finishing his wine. Placing the empty cup back down, he tenderly raised his fingertips to his eyes, feeling them and reflecting on the events that had caused them to grow a second iris and pupil. Glyer began a backward slither, retreating to the safety of the exit and beyond.

“Must I do everything myself? At least Warbak had a spine.” Umbra chuckled to himself at the inside joke. The last time Glyer had failed him, he’d had the man’s spine literally removed, hence the metal frame the stooge now needed to remain upright and living, even if it was a sort of half-life.

Umbra strode to the opposite wall of the room. A transparent rectangle of glass-like material separated his spa from the cavernous chamber beyond.

He scanned the room on the other side of the transparent panel and felt a hunger stir inside him.

Row after row of glass orbs ran the length of the massive expanse. They should be filled with souls by now, fuel for the Engine. One of these things needs to work. Either I find the Hermit or the Anvil. Perhaps both? Umbra smirked at the possibilities that would bring. Soon.

21

Martin awoke from the dream, images of Nguyen’s shriveled husk of a face being eaten by that alien starfish lingering in his mind’s eye.

Gasping and shivering, he sat up and brought his hands to his face. He rubbed vigorously as if trying to erase the images that haunted him. The room was cold, and he noticed it quickly, due to the large wet patch of cold sweat that stained his gray athletic shirt and covered his back.

“Just a bad dream… just a bad dream…” he mumbled, still rubbing his eyes. Awareness of his situation came to him. One—he was awake and no longer dreaming, and two—that he was in his command tent and not back in the dark copse of trees where he had watched Matiaba sic a demon on his boy. His breathing slowed, his mind calming, but the shivering intensified now that his torso was upright and free from the confines of his mummy-bag.

Glancing around the inside of the tent, which was still dark, with only the very first hint of dawn’s gray light sneaking in, he saw that the tell-tale blue light of the gas furnace was missing.

“Heater went out,” Martin mumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to stimulate blood flow. “It’s freezing in here.”

Still shivering, he crawled out of bed, shed the sweat-soaked shirt, and reached for a dry one, followed by his black sweater, the one