Emergence by Chris Harris (best feel good books .txt) 📕

“The name is Otor,” Foton listened to the voice; masculine surely, “and my kind built this Empire-”

“-And destroyed it.”

Foton looked around to locate the voice; Devilclash was by the door, walking in slowly. “I thought your kind was dead. Adjeti.”

Foton's eyes widened at this; of course this alien was an Adjeti; he'd read about them before, studied them even. How could he be so blind? He finished his brief berating, remembering that the reason he didn't recognise it straight away was the fact that the entire race was wiped out. Or so the history books said. Obviously a few survived.

“Pyrkagias.” Otor spat the words out. “We both know that the Adjeti didn't destroy Orbus.”

Devilclash's bugs arranged themselves in an obscure way, as if they were confused. “The Swarm says you did. History books say you did. Are we to trust the word of a murderous outsider?”

“Murderous?” Otor gestured to the corpses around him. “You think I would do this if I had a choice about it? No. Your kind has driven me to desperation; I work for the Xaosians for one reason only: to restore my race.”

“They're all dead. Oblivion was burnt to a crisp.” Foton interjected forcefully; everyone knew the story of Ardican, the human who sacrificed himself to use the World-Burner to destroy Oblivion, the Adjeti homeworld, after their attack on Orbus.

“Are they?” Otor smiled, as if humouring them. He turned back to Devilclash. “When my kind return, you will pay for what you've done. Show the Swarm what I'm saying, and let them fear the days to come.”

“I could kill you right now.” Devilclash hissed, anger breaking her usual monotone. Foton knew this was bad; the two species were always enemies, but Otor's accusations only forced the tension higher.

“What's stopping you?” When he stopped speaking, Otor's exoskeleton snapped back around his mouth; a defence mechanism.

Devilclash leapt at him, the bugs squealing. Foton felt a primal fear rise up inside him, but he ignored it. Otor darted to the side and raised his hand. The exoskeleton covering his wrist twisted around and extended, forming a cone around his hand, with a thin cylinder sticking out the end of it. Like a barrel of a gun.

The bullet of the organic was a pellet of compressed blood, forced into a rock-hard state. It smashed into Devilclash's Hive-stone, knocking it out of formation with the rest of the bugs. Foton grabbed Otor's organic-gun-arm and wrenched it forward. Otor stumbled slightly, losing his balance. Foton drew his other knife and stabbed it into his eye. With no exoskeleton other his eyes, the blade went in deep, spewing thick red blood over the ivory around it. As Foton pulled the blade out, Otor fell to his knees, before falling face-first onto the metal ground.

Devilclash reformed herself, but Foton could tell hat she was in pain; he didn't know how he knew, but he did. Maybe it was some sort of instinct. “Nice one.” Her voice was distorted from the norm.

Foton ran over to one of the still-functioning computers and ran a check on the personnel aboard the ship; everyone was registered just like the bodyguards were in the Spire. Running a ship-wide search, he found only two; his and Devilclash's. He felt no grief at this, just a pang of annoyance; evidently the guards weren't trained well enough. He quickly checked the engines and found that they had been severely damaged by the Xaosians' attack; the Watchman wasn't going anywhere. Next, Foton ran a life-form scan on the ship. Twenty-seven recognised life-forms were aboard the ship; twenty-five Xaosians. From the image on-screen, he could see that they were retreating back to their ships.

“We've gotta get to the escape pods.” Foton announced. Devilclash agreed, following his long, fast paces through the corridors. “So, what do you tell the Primary when you get to Buun?”

“The Xaosians have waged war on the Empire, and an Adjeti was helping them in return for their help in somehow restoring the Adjeti.” Devilclash paused. “You said “you”. Don't you mean “we”?”

“No.” Foton shook his head. “There is nothing I can do on Buun that will help in the war. I'm going home, to Prauw. I'm not a bodyguard, really. I'm an assassin, and I'm almost certain you suspected that. I can rally the other assassins to fight, take down Xaosian leaders. You can do the same for the Pyrkagia.”

Devilclash was silent for a few seconds, until they reached the escape pods. Only two had been ejected, which made Foton feel a little better; at least two people had escaped. “So, your journey to Buun was for an assassination?” Devilclash asked warily.

Foton gave an affirmative; he remembered Buun. Smuggler. Fifty-thousand Credits. “Had you figured it out?”

“I had suspicions. Your hidden blade gave it away.”

“And yet no-one else paid attention.” Foton gave a small smile in spite of himself. He moved over to the first escape pod and opened the hatch. “I guess this is goodbye then.” He extended his hand to her. She looked confused at first, before she took the hand and tried to shake it. “Nice try.” Foton commended her on her effort.

She gave a small smile. “Thanks.” Her voice took on a solemn tone. “Goodbye, Foton. I hope we meet again.”

“So do I.” He climbed into the pod, and reached for the door.

Something smacked into his hand and he was immediately in pain. He looked around to see Otor, running along the corridor. Foton's heart stopped; how is he still alive? Then he saw Otor's wounded eye; it was growing back even as he watched. Devilclash looked at the Adjeti, before slamming the hatch down on Foton's escape pod.

Otor ducked under Devilclash's wild attack, and grabbed the Hive-stone. With his free hand, he ejected Foton's escape pod and threw the Hive-stone out after it, casting Devilclash into the unknown void. Foton could only watch; there was nothing he could do for her now. He had read somewhere that the Pyrkagia could survive in space by turning the bugs to stone. He hoped that was true.

Out of the small window, he saw the disc-like structure of Watchman being pummelled by missiles, before it fell apart in space. No sound, no flames.

He punched in co-ordinates for Prauw and the pod changed course. Looking at his hand; he found that, while it felt fractured, it seemed to be fine. The only strange thing he noted was that it was shaking violently.

Locked in an airtight box, drifting in an airless vacuum, after being attacked by a long-dead member of a genocidal race and having his principle killed, Foton felt more scared than he had his whole life.

But under that fear, he felt a rush; the thrill of the fight, of the chase, still made his blood rush with excitement: this was something new!

The clock struck past midnight and Tors cheered, waking Pandora from her shallow slumber. It was Evacuation Day at last. Tors walked over to the window, before he sat in front of it. At this time of night, he couldn't see anything, but he figured that any ships would have landing lights on.

“You're not seriously going to sit there for the rest of the night, are you?” Pandora's voice contained more than a hint of ridicule.

“Yes. Maybe. I dunno.” Tors shrugged. “All I know is, I wanna be ready when they come. Where's Emola?”

Pandora looked over at Emola. “Sleeping like a baby.”

“Surprised either of you could sleep after seeing that...thing.” Tors shuddered at the thought of it. He remembered its shriek, and remembered the grating sensation that passed through his body as it did so.

Pandora knelt down next to Tors. “Look. Maybe there was something. Maybe it was just our imaginations, or a natural phenomenon-”

“-there was nothing natural about that thing.”

“Well, even if it's alive, its natural.” Pandora rolled her eyes. “But maybe it wasn't real.”

“It really was, though.” Tors hissed. “You know it. Deny it all you like, you know it.”

There was a flash from outside, followed by sudden silence. The winds dropped again. Tors's scales shifted darker. “It's back.”

“What?” Pandora seemed irritated.

“The winds died before, and it came for us.” Tors was genuinely afraid, his scales shifting between various shades of dark red.

Pandora put a hand on his back. “Tors, calm down.” Her voice seemed both soothing and irritable. A green flash from outside took them both by surprise. Tors moved closer to Pandora and she reluctantly put her arms around him, like a mother with a child. “Maybe they were real...” Pandora whispered, more to herself than to Tors.

Outside, green wisps of wind formed together in the serpentine shape Tors knew the creatures to be. He leant towards the window, both afraid and fascinated by this being. Its...head?...opened up, as it did before, but this time it didn't screech. This time was more of a whisper, as if it was talking to something else. This was when Tors noticed other wisps in the air.

More serpentine figures formed around the original and converged upon it. The whispering grew louder, mixed voices overlapping. Tors thought he could hear words in the winds, but he knew that it was just his imagination.

“The hell are they?” Pandora asked, more of a rhetorical question than anything else.

“What's going on?” Emola sounded sleepy and was rubbing his eyes as he came to the window; obviously the sounds outside had woken him. Then he saw the beings. “There's more of those things? Damn.”

Tors realised that Emola must be too half-asleep to care about these thing, especially as they did no harm before. Maybe, Tors thought, they come with all storms, but we can't see them. He noticed the creatures moving over to the decaying statue of Ardican in the town square. Craning his neck, he could just about see them as they separated and formed a circle around the statue. “There's eight of them now.”

“Yup.” Emola was still non-committal and vaguely dismissive.

Seven moved back, widening the circle, but one stayed in place. As Tors watched, it leaned steadily backwards, before lurching forward. As it did so, there was a flash of blue, like lightning, from its head. Tors looked away as it flashed, and when he looked again, the Ardican statue was cinders. Even in his shock, he felt Pandora's recoil. Her arms moved off of him and she stood up and stared outside. Even Emola was shaken out of his stupor. “My god...”

The offending creature shrieked, before decomposing into the wind. One other creature seemed to look at the cinders, before it lifted them into its own body. The others did the same, gathering the ashes into themselves. The ashes disappeared, but the winds grew darker, larger and somehow stronger. “Is this some sort of...feeding?” Tors asked, as if anyone else would know the answer.

“Looks like it.” Pandora was squinting, to try and see them more clearly. Her hair was wild, but mostly still.

As quickly as they came, the creatures disappeared, one by one.

The wind and rain returned, but not as strong as before. They sat for hours, barely speaking to one another, but just sharing a silent hope. Their hopes were answered hours later. Lights burned through the dark-grey sky, illuminating the battered house. In unison, they ran