THE MAYAN RUINS OF NAKABE, GUATEMALA

  Dr. Maria Sanchez-Jones had a front-row seat as the final days elapsed. The fact that she was there, standing at the cavern’s ventana (window), was no accident. Shuttles had been arriving for days. At first they belly-flopped onto the surface of the artificial lake, disgorged orderly files of Zin, Kan, or Fon and took off again.

  The initial groups of newcomers were met with organized jubilation. Drums pounded, banners waved, and the newcomers were marched toward the waiting citadel. Well, not marched, since many moved with considerable difficulty, but shuffled as best they could.

  Then, as time wore on, the tenor of the arrival process seemed to change. In place of the orderly groups already down, the shuttles started to disgorge what appeared to be a random assortment of individuals from every caste. Not only that, but many of what Jones thought of as “the second wave” seemed to be in worse physical condition than those who had arrived earlier. Some were carried into the citadel on slings.

  Finally, after what seemed like endless around-the-clock landings and departures, the flow started to slow. As much as an hour would pass during which there were no arrivals, followed by a flurry of activity as a half a dozen aircraft circled, and took turns crashing into the already crowded lake. Many of the latecomers sank, but some survived, as shuttles piled on shuttles.

  Jones hated the Saurons with a passion, but even she felt something approaching sympathy as sickly Zin, Kan, and Fon pulled themselves out of the wrecks, hopped from ship to ship, and finally made it to shore. Some lacked the strength to continue and collapsed at the side of the road, while others shuffled on past. The question was why? Why build the fortress to begin with? Why were so many of them ill? And why slaughter the slaves?

  The anthropologist had a theory, but theories must be tested, and she laid plans to do so. Three Eye, whom Jones wanted to recruit as her assistant, was something less than enthusiastic. “Please, senorita, consider what you ask… . To go down there, to examine one of the sky creatures, such an idea is madness.”

  But somehow, in spite of all the hard work and the damage that the sun had inflicted on her skin, Jones continued to be attractive. A great deal more attractive than the other female sobrevivientes were, and that, combined with the fact that Three Eyes was a man, combined to seal his fate.

  And so it was that the two of them waited till night, left the relative safety of the agujero SholeC, and made their way down to the area adjacent to the lake. Reasonably confident that the Saurons who had fallen next to the roadside didn’t represent much of a threat, Jones made liberal use of a carefully hoarded flashlight. Three Eye, who regarded the expenditure of such a valuable asset to be something approaching a pecado (sin), was beside himself with angst.

  But Jones, a rag held to her nose in a futile attempt to mitigate some of the stench, barely heard the steady stream of complaints. Nearly her entire attention was focused on the bodies that lay scattered about and the fact that, based on the noises she heard, at least some of the Savrons were alive!

  Careful, lest she enter some kind of trap, the anthropologist approached what had once been a Fon. Now, well into the change, but without any birth catalyst, the Sauron resembled nothing so much as a pile of putrid meat. Still, there was a sort of rasping sound, as if something was attempting to breathe, and the gurgle of fluids as they traveled from one organ to the next. The anthropologist held out her hand. “Give me the spear.”

  Three Eye, who had worked long and hard to mate the sliver of metal to the aluminum shaft, hesitated. First the professora led him here, to the place of the muerto, now she wanted the most valuable tool he owned. Was there no end to the woman’s insanity?

  “The spear,” Jones insisted. “Give it here.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Three Eye parted with the spear.

  Careful to put as much of the shaft as possible between the corpse and herself—Jones poked one of the bodies. There was no reaction.

  Slightly more confident, the academic moved closer. Now, thanks to the splash of oval light, Jones could make out the sort of details not visible from high above. Based on the manner in which the alien’s chitin had separated down the center of its thorax, some sort of suture line existed there. What amounted to a seam that had parted under pressure exerted from within. Fascinated by what she had seen, Jones moved even closer. There, within a translucent sac, something continued to pulsate. Was that the source of the rasping noise? Yes, she thought that it was. Now, bending over, the anthropologist directed the light directly into the sac. Something burst through the tissue and teeth snapped just shy of her face as Three Eye jerked Jones back and out of the way.

  Then, snatching the spear out of her hand, the sobreviviente stabbed the nymph. It made a horrible screeching sound, gave up a fountain of green blood, and collapsed.

  “So,” the peasant said, stepping back from his handiwork, “what do you think now, professora? Was Three Eye correct?”

  “Yes,” Jones said, her eyes drifting toward the place where the citadel acted to block out the stars, “Three Eye was correct. But we learned something, mi amigo, something important.”

  Three Eye looked quizzical. “We

  “Yes, we did. The sky creatures are about to give birth.”

  Three Eye frowned. “All of them?”

  “Yes,” Jones replied, “I’m afraid so.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yes,” the academic agreed, “that pretty well sums it up.”

  ABOARD THE RA ‘NA SHUTTLE NOMATH, (SEABIRD)

  It was a bright sunny day, and the shuttle threw a vaguely delta-shaped shadow over the land below. It seemed to undulate as the aircraft followed the Columbia River downstream past Umatilla, Oregon, the Dalles, and along I-84 into Portland. “You see what I mean?” Boyer Blue demanded, pointing to the river below. “There they are!”

  The shuttle banked to port and started to circle. The president of the United States had to scrunch down in order to peer out through the Ra ‘Na-designed view port. Sure enough, three Sauron shuttles were moored to the same pier. They looked strange in such close proximity to the few pleasure craft that remained afloat. More evidence that the Ra ‘Na were correct. Those Saurons fortunate enough still to be in transit prior to the destruction of Hell Hill had to go somewhere, and now, as the change claimed their bodies, spacecraft had started to land on any body of water the pilots could find.

  Some, based on images captured from orbit, seemed to be carrying red gasoline cans, clear plastic jugs, and anything else they could use to transport some sort of liquid. Were such containers filled with birth catalyst? Collected from the orbital factory? Yes, there was a good chance that they were.

  Now, over Manning’s strenuous objections, both the president and vice president were in the same aircraft over what the security chief considered to be enemy-held territory. He couldn’t stop them, but he could sure as hell intervene, which he didn’t hesitate to do from the rear of the aircraft, where he, along with four members of his team, was seated. The pilots, both of whom were Ra ‘Na, had grown used to the human by then, and were far from surprised when his voice came over the intercom.

  “Hey, Lam, how many times do you intend to circle left? There’s all sorts of folks down there, many of whom are armed, and can’t tell the difference between a shuttle piloted by Ra ‘Na and Kan. Hell, there’s plenty of them who don’t even know there’s a difference. That being the case, let’s turn to starboard, zigzag, or do something to throw the bastards off.”

  Lam, who had rather taken to the breezy informality typical of human interactions, was about to give the security chief what humans referred to as some “lip,” when an SLM zigzagged into the air, and he was forced to take evasive action. The Ra ‘Na pilot fired flares, rolled, and climbed. The maneuvers were ultimately successful, and Franklin, thankful still to be in possession of his lunch, attempted to restart the previous discussion. “So, the Saurons are going to ground. What should we do?”

  “If we had the whole thing to do all over again, I would recommend that we allow the Saurons to enter Hell Hill’s citadel, then attack it,” Blue responded. “By doing so we could have kept all of the bastards in once place. However, thanks to the fact that a good Samaritan leveled the hill, I suggest we work with the Ra ‘Na to locate the Sauron aircraft, put hunter-killer teams down at those locations, and root the bastards out of their hiding places. Once on the ground many of those teams will run into locals who may or may not be friendly to the cause. Political liaison officers will accompany each combat group in an attempt to bring such groups into the fold.”

  Blue, in his role as interim vice president, had been assigned to survey as much of the United States as possible, contact any groups that he might encounter, and start the long, laborious process of reconstruction.

  Though not very far into the process the ex–history professor had already encountered four putative presidents, none of whom had qualifications that even began to approach Franklin’s, a couple of would-be dictators, one theocracy, a group of racialists similar to those calling themselves the White Rose, and any number of experimental governments, many of which espoused philosophies similar to that of the Sasquatch Nation.

  Some had refused to acknowledge Franklin as president, but most, impressed by the fact that he was an ex-governor, and by his accomplishments so far, were quick to sign aboard. Especially when assured that an election would be held three months after the Saurons were defeated.

  Franklin considered the vice president’s proposal. The process the ex–history professor laid out made sense but would be damned hard to implement. What if some of the more recalcitrant groups refused to cooperate? And inadvertently provided the Saurons with an opportunity to reproduce? Or, worse yet, actually sided with the Saurons the way Sister Andromeda had in the past? How long would it be before a fresh generation of Kan warriors swarmed up out basements, sewers, and subways in an attempt to retake the planet? The prospect made his head ache. Franklin rubbed his temples. “Okay, Boyer, what you say makes sense. Let’s get on it… But what about the other citadel? The one down in Guatemala?”

  “That’s an entirely different situation,” Boyer replied thoughtfully. “Remember what I said about Hell Hill? And the way we should have handled the place? Well, here’s our chance to do it right. The key is to let the bugs settle in, wait for them to enter, and tear the place apart. Assuming you agree, I recommend that we build an assault team with that mission in mind and put in a request for the aircraft required to transport it.”

  Like most residents of Hell Hill, Franklin was well acquainted with the citadel, the thickness of its walls, and the multiplicity of defensive weapons systems that guarded the approaches. Odds were that hundreds if not thousands of his countrymen and women would die while throwing themselves at the fortress in Guatemala. But it had to be done. The Saurons would reproduce otherwise, and now, weakened as it was, the human race was vulnerable. “What about an aerial attack?” Franklin asked hopefully. “The Ra ‘Na could bombard the place from space… or drop one of our nukes on it.”

  “Good questions,” Blue acknowledged, “but you won’t like the answers. I tested the second idea on Patience, and he went ballistic. No nukes, or no support, and that’s final. Any harm to what the greenies call the Great Mother and they pull out.”

  The Sasquatch Nation comprised an important part of Franklin’s base of support—especially now that other ecominded organizations were being uncovered. Yes, he could simply ignore them, but what about later? When he and others tried to rebuild? A schism like that would be hard to overcome. “And the orbital attack?”

  Blue shrugged. “It’s doable… but probably pointless. The bugs built the place to withstand anything up to and including an assault using their own weapons. Kind of the way medieval noblemen built their castles to withstand catapults—the most powerful weapon of the day.”

  Franklin sighed. “Okay, it looks like the United States of America will have to invade Guatemala.”

  Blue grinned. “Just wait till some clown reinvents the United Nations… The General Assembly will love that one!”

  INSIDE THE CITADEL AT NAKABE, GUATEMALA

  Tradition held that an entire centum of Kan would give up their right to procreate in return for having their lines forever memorialized in the chant of honor. Now, having received the chemicals required to abort their nymphs weeks earlier, they stood in long straight lines. Intricate patterns had been painted onto their chitin, thereby setting the warriors apart from their brethren. To inspect them, to shuffle the length of the evenly spaced ranks, was to acknowledge the extent of their sacrifice.

  Individual rays of artificial light crisscrossed each other as they streamed down to illuminate the floor below. Thousands of onlookers, many so swollen that they appeared ready to burst, lined the birthing galleries. Those who could stomped their feet in unison, and the sound reverberated off the damp limestone walls as Hak-Bin shuffled from one end of the assemblage to the other, thanking each Kan on behalf of the race.

  Then, when the review finally came to an end, it was time for one last meeting. The location was the oversize birthing chamber reserved for Hak-Bin’s personal use. The cell was located on the very top floor, as befitted the Zin’s rank, but the honor paled when compared to the effort required to get there. No longer able to jump, the weary Sauron had no choice but to shuffle up what seemed like endless ramps until, nearly exhausted, he entered the rectangular room. The last part of the physical world that Hak-Bin would see. Those waiting to receive the Zin included Dun-Dar, the local stonemaster, Ott-Mar, his personal physician, and a Fon named Lon-Nar, who, in spite of his own needs, was expected to make the Zin comfortable prior to seeking a lesser space far below. He gritted his teeth and hoped that the torture would soon end.

  “So,” Dun-Dar began, giving his superior time to recover from the long strenuous climb, “all is ready.”

  Hak-Bin struggled to breathe. “How many—were able to make it inside—before the doors were sealed?”

  “Exactly 8E1,4EI,” the stonemaster answered confidently, “or eighty-two-point-four percent of capacity.”

  “And the citadel to the north?”

  “Communications were severed about six units ago,” Dun-Dar replied. “But we assume things went well.”

  Hak-Bin wanted to say that the stonemaster should assume nothing—but knew such a comment would be pointless. The failures were his, not Dun-Dar’s, and all of them knew that. Even assuming that a similar number of his brethren had been able to take refuge in the northern citadel, something he was starting to doubt, that would leave approximately three hundred thousand individuals unaccounted for. A disaster of nearly unimaginable magnitude.

  Soon, once he crossed over, the punishment would begin as his ancestors, supported by the untold thousands for whom there would be no nymph to carry on, would subject him to a tidal wave of well-deserved abuse. Fortunately, there was no way to die once you were dead. They would have crucified him otherwise. The one bright spot in all this, the one thing from which Hak-Bin could take a modicum of comfort, was the fact that his nymph would rule what remained. “And your responsibilities?” Hak-Bin inquired, turning his gaze to Ott-Mar. “What of them?”

  “Each and every individual who made it through the doors will receive a sufficient amount of catalyst,” the physician said proudly, “and many will give birth to multiple nymphs.”

  “Excellent,” Hak-Bin replied. “I wish to thank both of you for all that you have accomplished. My nymph will accord your nymphs the full weight of honor and respect earned through your efforts. Please pass into the next world knowing that thanks to your accomplishments your line was advanced, your names forever recorded in the minds of my descendants, to be sung for all eternity.”

  Deeply honored, and at least momentarily appeased, both of the Zin bowed their way out of the chamber.

  Lon-Nar, who saw the exchange as the worst sort of dra, was happy to see them go. Still, his nymph would soon be vulnerable to Hak-Bin’s nymph, which meant it paid to be careful. That being the case, the Fon adopted his most obsequious manner while he invited the Zin to lower himself into the concave recess centered in the middle of the floor, inserted a needle into the appropriate vein, and released the intravenous drip. Then, hoping that the other Sauron was satisfied, Lon-Nar backed out of the room.

  Hak-Bin watched the other Sauron withdraw, felt the nymph stir as the catalyst found its way down into the birth sac, and allowed himself to relax. That’s when the next him surged into the now-emptied space, took control, and started to scheme. Hak-Bin felt a sense of pride, welcomed the new mind, and allowed himself to fade. Three units later the Sauron was gone.

  NEAR THE CITADEL AT NAKABE, GUATEMALA

  A tropical storm had moved in over the lush green jungle below. Rain poured down in sheets, pattered against millions of leaves, and dripped to the ground. Puddles fed already swollen streams, which merged with heavily loaded rivers that roared toward the sea.

  The engines made a smooth humming sound as the aircraft nosed its way toward the southeast. The interior of the Ra ‘Na lifter wasn’t all that different from the cargo compartment of a Chinook helicopter, except that the H-shaped aircraft had two such compartments located side by side. The starboard hull was rigged to accommodate troops. The port hull was loaded with supplies. Fold-down benches had been installed along both sides of the interior.

  The president of the United States, flanked by members of his bodyguard, sat with his back to the outboard side facing inward. The windows were low by human standards, and it was necessary to scrunch down in order to look outside. Not that there was anything to see beyond a thick layer of clouds. Franklin turned toward Manning. “I hope our friends know where they’re going.”

  Now, with the skies pretty much to themselves, it was a relatively simple matter for the Ra ‘Na to ferry the allied assault team in from the assembly point near Bellingham, Washington. The lifters, which could make vertical takeoffs and landings, were considerably slower than shuttles but boasted a much greater payload. Manning frowned. “The pilots seem pretty competent to me… It’s what we’re going to face on the ground that you need to worry about.”