Our first stop is outside of Milwaukee. A house, much smaller than the one we’d found in Chicago. It wouldn’t take but a few minutes for this one to burn to the ground. It’s the middle of the night when we arrive, setting the Skimmer down in the street once again. The neighborhood is quiet. The front door is unlocked. We find one adult inside. He’s asleep. Never hears us coming. The subject does, though. He cowers in the corner of his bedroom, tears streaming down his face as he shouts that it was all a joke. He was “pranking” his friends. And he thought it would be “cool” if aliens showed up so he could meet them.
At least he gets his wish.
The only time he shows any sort of bravery is when I reach out to grab him. He swings a lamp at me, breaking it against my chest. I am unfazed. He tries to bolt past me but only gets a few steps away before the butt of my blaster slams into the back of his head, causing him to crumple like a puppet whose strings have been snipped. I motion to one of my subordinates, and the target is sedated and loaded up.
The whole encounter takes five minutes tops. We are precise and merciless in our movements.
It’s a short flight to our final target of the night. This one in Madison. I fly the Skimmer myself, enjoying the feeling of the controls in my hands. My men are silent in their seats behind me for the most part. Eventually, the new squad member speaks up.
“What happened to Görde?”
He must mean the soldier who lost his arm.
“Shotgun,” one of the others says. “Human took us by surprise. He lost his arm. Made the guy pay for it, though. Mauled him like a starved piken who’d just spotted a juicy kraul.”
“Beloved Leader would be proud.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Or perhaps he’d condemn the bastard for letting the human injure him in the first place. Görde should have been paying attention. Watching his flank. Our flank.”
After that, my troops are quiet.
Our last target has been traced to an apartment complex in what looks like a rundown part of town. She’s different from the others we’ve picked up if only because it wasn’t her own stupidity that put her on our radar screen: someone somewhere tipped off an agency our computer experts are monitoring. We land in a small park across the street. What little grass there is crumbles under our feet as we march through the night.
“Eyes open,” I mutter as we make our way to the complex. “Lots of people crammed in tight living conditions. We can expect resistance.”
The troops grunt behind me. There are a few humans loitering around the parking lot. When they see us, they freeze. It takes them a few seconds to understand who we are. What we are. Then they run. I move my finger to the trigger of my blaster, expecting them to reappear with weapons or more people. To try to keep us from moving in closer to their homes. But they don’t return.
Typical. Humans hide themselves away instead of facing their threats head-on.
The apartment building is made up of outdoor hallways, the front door to each unit opening to the open air. We find the one we’re looking for on the first floor. The door goes down with one kick. My men flood in. Out of the corner of my eye I see blinds part in the window next door, but when I turn my head to investigate, they snap closed again.
No one comes out.
There are no adults inside, only the girl we’re after. She springs from the couch, long, black hair falling over her face. Dark eyes wide with fear.
“What do you want?” she screams. “Who . . .” But she doesn’t finish. She must understand at that point.
I glance at the photo and stats on my tablet. Perfect match. This was easy enough.
“Take her,” I say.
My men step forward.
That’s when things start to move.
First it’s just the shit strewn about the apartment. Soda cans, books, a few dirty dishes. They start to float above the stained carpet. The girl throws her arms out to her sides. Then there’s a sudden bass sound, followed by a wave of invisible force. I’m still in the doorway, and the wave hits me like a brick wall, sending me flying backwards onto the concrete outside. The front window of the apartment bursts out, glass landing all around me. My men inside take the brunt of the attack. Several appear to have broken noses. The shabby coffee table and the trash and junk that had been floating around are now all piled up against the walls.
I pick myself up off the ground.
Standing alone with nothing else around her, the girl looks more helpless than before. Long, black hair floats around her head like she’s been electrified. Slowly, it starts to fall down. Tears fill her eyes. She pushes her hands out again as my men get to their feet.
But this time nothing happens. No wave of telekinesis. Not even a breeze.
She looks frantic. Her eyes even wider now, mouth open in a silent scream.
“Looks like your power’s failing you,” one of my troops says with a grin.
She clenches her teeth and curls her hands into fists. The girl has fight, I’ll give her that. She’s worthier of our time than most humans.
“John Smith is going to hunt you down,” she screams. “I’ve seen him in my head. There are a bunch of us. Hundreds. You’ll never get away with this, you fucking monsters!”
I recognize the name she clings to. I know his face—the faces of all the Garde who have challenged us now that they too have come out of the shadows. But she places her faith in false hope.
“John Smith can’t save you.” I step into the apartment and motion to my squad members. “I told you to take her.”
She bites and claws at my men. Eventually she goes slack. An empty syringe breaks as it’s tossed aside.
On the way out, I see more eyes in the windows around us. Peeking out through parted curtains and slits in blinds. The other apartment doors stay locked. No one tries to stop us. Maybe it’s the thrill of the hunt or the high of the destruction we’ve wrought tonight, but knowing that all of these people think they’re safe behind doors makes my blood burn. There are explosive throwing disks on my belt, and for a moment I think of letting them loose. Toppling the entire complex.
But that’s not my mission. Our mayhem must be kept out of sight. At least until Beloved Leader decides that the humans are of no more use to him.
Praise his name!
Neither of our targets stirs on the flight back to the warship. A few of my men inspect flesh wounds they received during the girl’s attack.
“Damn human bitch,” one of them mutters. The new addition. “We should wake her up now and show her what pain means. Cut her up just enough to say it happened while we were trying to capture her.”
“Touch that girl and I’ll turn you to dust myself,” I say. “Beloved Leader wants these subjects alive. They’re his property. Would you mutilate something that belongs to him?”
The soldier is silent.
“Glory to Beloved Leader,” another says.
Again, the Skimmer is quiet.
The sun is still down when we get back to the warship. I’m sent up to the labs with our targets, carrying both humans over my shoulders. They’re light enough. Fragile.
There are several trueborn Mogadorians in the ward, huddled around various human specimens who’ve been secured tonight. Like our teenage boy from the Chicago suburb. He’s awake now. Gagged. Eyes big with fear as he’s poked and prodded by our doctors.