“I copy, Sheriff,” the chopper pilot replied. “I’m en route to your position for emergency evac. ETA two minutes.”

  “Copy that. Cancel the evac. The threat is neutralized.”

  “Sheriff?”

  “Head back to HQ and pick up some explosives. We’ve got a nest to burn.”

  “Roger, Sheriff. I’m reversing course now. Updated ETA… fifteen minutes.”

  “Pozz that. Sheriff out.”

  Hayden tapped the badge to disconnect before glancing back at the fleeing trife. It didn’t matter if they were running. If he let them maintain the nest, they would pick a new queen from among the group, form a mateball, and transfer the genetic material to the chosen one to make it bigger, stronger and able to reproduce.

  In other words, the nest had to be destroyed.

  The real question was, where had it come from? This area had been clear for over a year and was well within the safe zone. Had the trife actually tunneled in from somewhere else?

  He tapped his badge again. “Bronson, this is Sheriff Duke.”

  “I copy, Sheriff,” Bronson replied.

  “Bring the Rangers and three plasma rifles back with you.”

  “Roger. What are you thinking, Sheriff?”

  “Something about this isn’t sitting right. I want to dig a little deeper before we destroy the evidence.”

  “Roger. If you don’t mind me saying, Sheriff—when you have a feeling, that usually means bad things are about to happen.”

  “I’m bound to be wrong sometime,” Hayden replied. “Let’s hope today’s the day.”

  4

  Caleb

  Caleb descended the cracked and worn concrete ramp, following a line of evenly-spaced torches deeper into the underground parking garage. The guards at the base of the slope turned to watch him. Not because they were nervous about his presence. Their eyes were affixed to his body. In their perception he was a female in a worn and tattered dress with a long tear along the back that revealed half of her dirt-smeared backside.

  Primitive savages. And you wonder why your kind lost the war.

  Caleb glanced back at the guards, who didn’t even pretend not to be staring.. Their eyes moved to his face, and one of them smiled and winked. “My shift ends in three hours. Should I come find you?”

  Caleb faced forward without responding. Ishek’s laughter resonated in his mind.

  “It isn’t funny,” Caleb said.

  On at least one level, it is. You chose to scan the beggar woman.

  “I scanned her front. I didn’t know her clothes were in such bad shape. And I didn’t know she wasn’t wearing underwear.”

  You’ve been back on Earth for two months. You’ve seen what this place has become.

  Caleb sighed. It was a sad truth he was still struggling to accept, even though the outcome had always been known. His journey had brought him from Earth to the stars and back again. A journey that had taken over two hundred years to reach this point. When he had left, he was United States Space Force Marine Sergeant Caleb Card, leader of the Vultures, the most elite search and rescue team on the planet.

  Now?

  He wasn’t sure.

  Fate had brought him back to Earth through an Axon wormhole.

  And he hadn’t come back alone.

  Ishek was a Relyeh Advocate—a cross between a slug and a worm—currently wrapped around his right bicep and connected to his mind through tendrites extending from the bottom of the alien’s body all the way up to Caleb’s cervical spine. The connection, the bond, allowed them to read one another’s minds in what was supposed to be a symbiotic relationship beneficial to them both.

  I don’t appreciate being thought of as a worm or a slug.

  “That’s what you look like.”

  I’m more intelligent.

  “Debatable.”

  Caleb felt a sudden pressure in his mind. Ishek’s way of trying to pinch him for the statement. He deflected it easily. Time together had only strengthened their bond, changing them both.

  For the better?

  He wasn’t sure of that either.

  The Relyeh weren’t friends of humankind. They weren’t anyone’s friend. They had spread across the galaxy, crossing thousands of light years and conquering any intelligent races they discovered. They subverted these races to their mission, either through enslavement, the adoption of their genetic material, or both. The Hunger was dependent on this constant conquest for survival, their entire evolutionary nature predicated on feeding off the universe’s seemingly endless bounty.

  Ishek was a Relyeh, and its bond to Caleb meant he also needed to feed like a Relyeh to survive. That meant access to the pheromones emitted by animals during periods of high stress. In other words—fear and pain. In that way, he had become like a mythical vampire, with a dark side that compelled him to ugly violence.

  It was the reason he was in the garage. Ishek was hungry.

  I hunger.

  Ishek echoed the sentiment. In the beginning, the hunger was like a curse. He had tried to starve it out, only to find himself first wracked with pain and then unable to prevent Ishek from seizing control of his body. The Relyeh had no qualms about its need to cause stress. It had no morals, no conscience, and when it was that hungry, no control. Ishek had made him do something he didn’t want to remember. Something he had pushed so deep into his mind he couldn’t recall it now. All that remained was the vague memory that he had done something horrible. Something that had left him no longer able to consider himself a Space Force Marine. Marines were honorable and loyal. They weren’t cold-blooded killers.

  Like him.

  Caleb reached the first level of the garage. Fires burned in metal trash bins spread across the floor, while groups of survivors huddled around them, talking and eating. A pungent odor wafted from a central firepit where slabs of meat hung on metal hooks over the flames. Trife meat.

  I still can’t believe you eat them.

  “I don’t eat them,” Caleb replied.

  But other humans did. Why wouldn’t they? The trife were more plentiful than any other living thing on Earth, and the survivors had somehow developed an immunity to the poison they carried in their blood.

  A tent city spread out beyond the cookfires. Dozens of various size tents in various states of decay rested across the garage floor surrounded by garbage. Mongrel dogs meandered among them, searching for trife bones with meat still attached or other morsels from discarded cans and previously packaged foods with an infinite shelf life.

  People gathered around the tents. A man with an augmented leg stood beside a worn blanket with guns and knives laid out on display while a pair of thugs in threadbare jeans and stained t-shirts looked them over. Caleb could almost sense them trying to decide if they could pay for any of the weapons and if they couldn’t if they should try to take them. Their owner seemed to sense the same, because his hand shifted to rest on the handle of a sidearm, and he coughed to caution the thugs. They glanced up at him and walked away.

  Further back, Caleb caught sight of a second man. He was more finely dressed in a woven cotton shirt and pants, his feet in sandles and his hair tied back. Freshly bathed women clothed only in old bathing suits or bra and panties lounged on blankets around him, smiling at the men who approached. Caleb watched as a handful of notes exchanged possession and one of the women stood and joined the man who had paid for her services. The pimp pointed at a nearby tent and the couple vanished inside.

  Paying for reproduction. Primitive savages.

  “Better to pay than to take.”

  That’s a matter of perspective. Does the man own these women?

  “Point made. I don’t disagree.”

  I hunger.

  “Me too. Are there any targets here?”

  You tell me.

  Caleb smirked. Ishek was testing him. He closed his eyes, opening himself up to the connection between himself and Ishek, and from Ishek to the Collective. He searched for nearby Relyeh, practicing the subtle feel of recognizing when another mind was close.

  He remembered the one time he had searched the Collective and discovered the last thing he ever expected.

  Another human.

  The connection had lasted a second. Maybe two. He had called out, but there was no reply. That was nearly two months ago. He’d kept trying for weeks after that, hundreds of times, but he never found her again. Ishek told him he must have gotten mixed up and misread the connection, but Caleb was certain. He had gotten a glimpse of her memories.

  He knew she was here on Earth, and her name was Natalia.

  Natalia Duke.

  He wanted to find her. A part of him needed to find her. But there was something he needed more. First, to feed. Second, to find out what had happened to the colony on Proxima, and if possible to get a message to them. He had crossed the galaxy with something of great value. Valuable research a lot of people had died to protect.

  His mind held the secret to saving the planet, but he had nobody to share the secret with.

  5

  Caleb

  Caleb walked past the men and women gathered around the cook fire, making his way toward the tents in the back. He could hear the men whisper as he passed, making quiet comments about this strange new woman in their village. He had copied her visage four hours earlier after finding her wandering the road leading into the area, hungry and disoriented. Ishek had wanted to feed on her. Caleb refused. She was in bad shape and had likely already been attacked. His real desire was to help her. To find her somewhere safe to rest and something to eat. There was nothing nearby, and he didn’t have the time to stay with her. The hunger was real and growing, and he could only deny his symbiote for so long.

  He had given her a few notes and a blanket. Maybe she was grateful. It was impossible to tell. She had looked him in the eye and offered a slight smile, but it was the best she could do. He helped her to the side of the road, sat her down in the shade of a tree, and continued ahead. The trife wouldn’t touch her, not as long as she was unarmed and unthreatening. He couldn’t vouch for anyone who traveled the road and happened to see her there.

  That was life on the forgotten Earth.

  He winced when he felt a hand grab at the holographic projection of the woman’s nearly bare buttocks. His head whipped in the direction of the grabber, who offered a nearly toothless smile.

  “You like that?” the man asked.

  This one will do.

  Caleb wasn’t so sure. He had come here looking for other Relyeh.

  You found none.

  He couldn’t argue that fact. Then again, some of the Relyeh were able to hide from the Collective. Servants of one of the Relyeh Ancients. He had already killed a few of them. He couldn’t see them, but they could see him, and they didn’t like him.

  Probably because he wasn’t on their side.

  “Maybe I do,” he replied to the man.

  The others nearby laughed.

  “Ooh, Rook, I think she likes you,” one teased.

  “You gonna get some of that, Rook?” another said.

  “Do you have a tent?” Caleb asked.

  The man kept smiling as he got to his feet. “We don’t need a tent, darlin’. There’s a dark corner right over there.” He pointed to the corner of the garage, an area the survivors were using as a toilet.

  How romantic.

  Caleb tightened his lips to keep from reacting to Ishek’s comment.

  “What do you say, darlin’?” Rook asked.

  I hunger, Caleb.

  “Why not?” Caleb said. “Lead the way.”

  Rook beamed, reaching for Caleb’s hand. Caleb let him take it.

  They didn’t get far. Someone tapped Caleb on the shoulder. He turned his head back to find the pimp standing behind him.

  “Don’t just give it away, my specimen,” he said.

  “What?” Rook said, pausing and getting in front of the pimp. “Why don’t you butt the hell out?”

  The pimp smiled calmly as he shoved a knife into Rook’s stomach, pulling him close. The man’s sudden pain and fear was thick in the air, and while Caleb hadn’t caused it, he could still breathe it in.

  Delicious.

  Caleb hadn’t caught on to the apparent flavor of the pheromones. He only understood that they either did or didn’t satiate the hunger. Rook’s grip on his hand loosened as he struggled to breathe. The pimp pulled the knife out, letting the man drop to his knees, clutching at his stomach to stem the flow of blood.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” the pimp said. “Except die.”

  Rook gasped, his fear filling the air. Caleb was surprised by the sudden violence, but it was almost exactly what he had planned to do. He looked at the pimp, making eye contact. They searched one another for a moment.

  He couldn’t sense some Relyeh.

  But they could sense him.

  Caleb turned off the projection as his hand dropped to his sidearm, previously hidden by the projection. The people around him gasped and shouted in surprise, a nearly featureless black humanoid suddenly in their midst. The pimp was shocked for a moment too. Maybe the pimp expected Caleb was host to an Advocate, but he hadn’t guessed he was wearing a Skin.

  Don’t kill him.

  Ishek’s request caught Caleb off-guard. He was slow to draw, giving the pimp the time he needed to leap toward him and stab with the knife. It hit the Skin in a flare of blue light, the blade deflected by the Skin’s shields.

  “Why not?” Caleb asked.

  The pimp took a swing at him. He ducked below it, nearly tripping over someone as they tried to stand and run.

  He might have information.

  Ishek was right. Caleb deflected another punch and then rushed the pimp, tackling him. The dirty man tried to struggle until Caleb put a hand to his back, emitting just enough energy to signal the khoron inside him there was more than just its host’s life at stake.

  “Wait,” the pimp said. “Don’t.” He stopped struggling.

  “Who do you serve?” Caleb asked.

  “What? I don’t serve any—”

  Caleb increased the energy output, burning the man’s back. He gritted his teeth in pain.

  “I said, who the hell do you serve?”

  The pimp growled softly. “Nyarlath. The greatest of the gods.”

  Caleb nodded. Most of the khoron he had found served the same Relyeh Ancient. Even the ones who didn’t said the same thing. Nyarlath was the most powerful leader of the Hunger. Not the strongest, but the oldest and most intelligent.

  “Where is she?” Caleb asked.

  The pimp started laughing. “Not here. But she’s coming. Her brother is dead, and soon this world will know true fear.”

  He kept laughing, even as his hand started rising behind Caleb’s back. Caleb didn’t hesitate, sending a blast of energy into the khoron before the pimp could drive his knife into him. When the khoron died, the host died, the blade falling out of his hand and clattering on the cement.

  We knew that was coming.

  Caleb nodded slightly, turning to look at the weapon. It wasn’t a knife after all. It was short and thin, with a violent, serrated edge. It was made of dark alloy. Alien metal. Axon origin. He had never seen anything like it before. Ishek filled in the blanks.

  An Axon microspear. Originally designed as a torture device for use against my kind. It looks as though it’s been weaponized.

  “How many of you are on this planet that somebody made a weapon to kill you?”

  Unknown. Enough. He said Nyarlath is coming.

  Caleb picked up the microspear, looking up as the guards came running toward him, along with nearly a dozen armed scavengers.

  He got to his feet, holstering his sidearm. He had nowhere to put the microspear, so he kept it in his hand as he raised them. “I don’t want any more trouble,” he said.

  The guards leveled their shotguns at him. They couldn’t hurt him if they wanted to, but there was no more reason to fight. He had gotten what he came for. He had satisfied the hunger.

  The guards and scavengers stopped in front of him, unsure what to make of him. He knew how alien he looked. The Skin covered his entire body, including his head.

  “Don’t shoot,” he said. “I’m leaving.”

  He started toward them, moving deliberately while they followed him with their guns. They didn’t say anything as they parted to let him through. He could taste their fear. It would keep Ishek satisfied for a while.

  He kept going, back across the garage to the ramp. The guards followed him, making sure he left as though they had control over the decision.

  He emerged back into the open air. The sun was setting—a bad time for most to be outside alone.

  Not for him.

  He didn’t look back as he resumed heading north on the old highway, considering what the pimp had said. If Nyarlath were on his way, that was a problem. A big problem. But it was a problem he could help solve.

  He just needed to get what he knew to Proxima.

  It was more important now than ever.

  6

  Rico

  Rico stood at the window of her apartment, looking down. The activity of evening traffic inside Dome Three left a field of color and light across the city below—a stream of life, safety and happiness that stood in stark contrast to the world she had recently left behind.

  Earth.

  Her eyes shifted skyward, toward the top of the dome. It was nighttime, which meant the atmospheric projectors were turned off and the sky, the real sky, was visible through the thick, transparent shield that protected them from the harsh elements of their home planet.

  Once, not that long ago, the beauty of the sky and the billions of stars beyond brought her comfort. Now looking at them caused her to shiver.

  “I still miss you, Sarge,” she said out loud, thinking of her husband.

  They had been in the Centurion Space Force together, assigned to Earth. They had spent years loving one another from afar, and when they had finally come together, fate had ripped them apart.