Target: Earth (Extinction Wars Book 5) Read online

  “I did, sir.”

  “In other words, you disobeyed me.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  The big blue eyes swirled with anger. The huge hand clutching the staff tightened so the knuckles whitened. He tapped the end of the staff once more. This time, the peal made the polished floor shake.

  “You have disobeyed me, Effectuator.”

  “I have already said it was because I couldn’t stand the guilt.”

  “I am not interested in your excuses.”

  “Sir, if you’ll just listen—”

  He aimed the staff at me. It had an open end, showing a long hollow tube. I’d seen the staff open up one other time, and it had resulted in Abaddon’s destruction.

  I licked my lips. This wasn’t going the way I wanted.

  “I’m sorry, sir—”

  “No,” he said, interrupting again. “You are only sorry because you were caught.”

  “I wasn’t caught. I just told you what I did.”

  “Only because you know that I can detect lies.”

  “Well, yeah—”

  “Silence!” he thundered. “I am about to pronounce judgment against you.”

  “Okay. That’s your right.”

  “I said silence!”

  Something crazy swirled in his eyes. I could see he was going to do something rash, so I beat him to it. I grabbed the end of the staff and jerked hard. It was like moving a granite wall, but I shifted it just enough or maybe I ended up moving myself as a yellow ray beamed out of it. Instead of striking me, the ray bounced against a mirror and jumped to another. The yellow light reflected a thousand times in a second.

  Suddenly, with a roar and a fantastic crash, thousands of mirrors shattered and blew shards of glass everywhere. It seemed to go on forever, although in reality, it ceased abruptly.

  As the Curator looked around, his eyes shined with a feverish light.

  “What have you done?” he said in a choked voice.

  “Me?” I said. “You did it.”

  He fixed his gaze upon me. “You have destroyed the Hall of Mirrors.”

  “Ah, surely we can fix it.”

  “We?” he said. “You can do nothing of the sort. You are a destroyer, a killer, a—”

  He ripped the end of his staff out of my grasp. “You are a menace, Effectuator. How will you pay for this monstrous damage?”

  I looked around at the masses of shards glittering on the polished floor. I saw thousands of stands that had held the mirrors. I imagine this must have been a special kind of glass. Had the Creator fashioned the room?

  I had an unusual reaction. My shoulders slumped. It must have been the guilt over Jennifer still lingering in me. Usually, I didn’t sweat this kind of stuff.

  “I’m sorry,” I said in a forlorn voice. I shook my head, threw up my hands and let them drop to my side.

  A change came over the Curator. Some of the anger seemed to drain from his eyes.

  “I almost sent you to the…” His words trailed away. He shook his head, and he regarded me more closely. Then he tilted the staff toward me. “Grab hold,” he said.

  I did.

  In a flash, we vanished, reappearing in a vast room with strange globes floating in midair and crystal pillars reflecting soft blue light.

  “You can let go of the staff,” he said.

  I did.

  He aimed the staff at a nearby globe, one three times the mass of a big man.

  “Let me show you what happened with Jennifer,” he said. “I admit to it having saddened me.”

  With growing trepidation, I looked up at the smooth globe.

  -4-

  I watched for a long time, as I saw a lot of stuff happening on a screen embedded within the globe. Jennifer was the center of most of the action. Some of the time, I actually heard audio.

  She’d become a tall woman with what I’d call an evil beauty. She had hard, knowing eyes and long dark hair like a vampire queen. Had she colored her hair? I couldn’t remember anymore, which made me sad. She had an elongated torso and legs and a leopard-like way of walking. What made it worse, or maybe better, was a butt to kill for.

  Jennifer wore tight-fitting, purple garments and thigh-high hooker boots with heels and kept several weapons on her waist.

  She seemed restless like a caged beast. Abaddon had twisted her mind into a devilish bent. Once, Jennifer had been the sweetest woman I’d known, kind, loving, considerate—

  The scenes bit into my heart.

  I saw her go under various rehabilitation machines. The Curator often appeared in those. Later, he guided her through a lovely forest, beside a lake and under a host of stars. He spoke to her about good things, obviously attempting to soothe her warped psyche.

  As time passed, she changed, losing some of her stiffness. She even smiled shyly several times.

  “How long has she been up and about?” I asked.

  “Several months,” the Curator said. “I actually thought she was getting better.”

  “Did she trick you?”

  The Curator nodded. “She pretended to soften even as I believe she was plotting to escape.”

  The scenes continued to shift, and as I watched, I thought her tortured mind was settling down, easing into saner avenues of thought.

  “I notice she never mentions me,” I said. “Did you edit out those instances?”

  “No.”

  “Did you find her lack of comments about me odd?”

  “Of course,” the Curator said. “At first, I believed she practiced subterfuge. Later, I thought she was trying to cure herself by never saying your name. Early on, I had her take profile tests. Every time she saw your photo, her blood pressure rose dramatically. Clearly, she loathed your very existence.”

  I glanced at the Curator. Had he meant that as a jibe at me?

  “Watch closely,” he said. “She begins asking probing questions. For the last several weeks, she’s had a thirst to know everything. Again, in the beginning, I suspected her. Later, she seemed to genuinely be getting better. I believed she was trying to immerse herself in life so she could drown the awful memories of her time with Abaddon and you.”

  I watched. Jennifer asked the Curator questions the way a young kid would. Some of the scenes showed her in the Library at a reader, absorbing data like a sponge.

  “Did you check her reading list?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “She read volumes of galactic history, showing a marked interest in the Forerunner artifacts, the Jelks, the little killers—”

  “Why not say humans?” I asked, bristling at the term.

  “Because the volumes she read referred to your species as the little killers. She also read about the old days when the Plutonians fought the First Ones.”

  “Who?”

  “The Plutonians,” the Curator said.

  “Who are they and what happened between them and the First Ones?”

  The Curator studied me and finally shook his head. “It is a long sad story. I do not care to relate it, especially as it likely caused Jennifer’s choice.”

  “Now I want to know about these Plutonians even more.”

  “I realize this. But since you cannot do anything about it—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, interrupting. “What are you doing, dangling a challenge before me as if I’m a dog?”

  “Effectuator, you must compose yourself. I have been doing you a favor by showing you all this. I know you care for Jennifer and care for Earth—”

  “What do these images have to do with Earth?” I asked.

  “You will stop interrupting me. I am the Curator. You are my Effectuator. There is balance in our statuses, a balance you upset when you interrupt.”

  “Okay. I get it. Don’t interrupt you again.” I waited a moment before saying, “Now, what do Jennifer, the Plutonians and Earth have in common?”

  “You’re a stubborn man. Stubbornness has aided you on many occasions. Here, it will only bring you grie
f.”

  I eyed him, finally nodding, turning back to the globe.

  I watched Jennifer read, ask a few more questions, including about Plutonians, and listened to the globe go mute as the Curator obviously explained about them to her.

  “All right,” I said, looking up. “Now, you’re baiting me.”

  I wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if the corners of the Curator’s lips twitched upward the slightest bit.

  “Nonsense, Effectuator,” he said.

  “Is this about the Hall of Mirrors? Are you trying to get back at me for that?”

  “Nonsense,” he said again, turning back to watch the globe.

  After a moment, I did, too, wondering if the Curator—

  “Wait a minute,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Jennifer affected you.”

  “What twaddle are you spouting?”

  “Bad behavior corrupts good behavior. It seldom works in reverse. You’ve spent the last few months with her. In some manner, she’s, oh, I don’t know, turned you malicious, at least more malicious than is your wont.”

  “That’s preposterous.”

  “She was trained by Abaddon. She became his assassin, right? Surely, there were—”

  “Enough,” the Curator said. “You spout idle, even foolish speculation. I have a good reason to keep quiet about the Plutonians. If that silence causes you some anguish—well, you did destroy the Hall of Mirrors with your impetuous act. I can find another punishment for that, if you wish.”

  I shook my head.

  “Then watch,” he said, aiming his staff at the globe. “This is what I want you to see.”

  I saw all right. Jennifer raced through the Fortress of Light until she crouched before a sealed hatch, using a small tool on it. With the tool, she managed to slip into a hangar bay, break into a spaceship, activate it and leave the Fortress through an outer bay door. I watched her vessel zoom away from the vast accretion disk that surrounded the massive black hole at Sagittarius A*.

  Others noticed her, including the Ve-Ky with their Vip 92 attack ships. The aliens rose up with clouds of attack ships. Jennifer had chosen her craft well, however, as it vanished from sight. The 92s launched their electrical missiles, but didn’t appear to hit anything. After a time, the Vip 92s turned and went back down into the accretion disk.

  “She stole a stealth ship?” I asked.

  “Indeed. It is a clone to your own Galactic Effectuator Vessel.”

  That was interesting. “Where did she go? Do you know?”

  “Notice,” he said, looking intently at the globe.

  On the screen in the globe, the star field shifted. Jennifer’s ship reappeared as it neared a giant donut-shaped Forerunner artifact with a black hole in its center.

  “Is that the artifact Holgotha?” I asked.

  “The same,” the Curator said.

  A little over eight years ago, the artificially intelligent Holgotha had been parked near the dwarf planet Ceres in the Solar System’s Asteroid Belt. Such Forerunner artifacts had the ability to teleport long-distances.

  The artifact and I hadn’t parted on the best of terms eight years ago. I wondered if Jennifer knew that.

  She parked the stealth ship near Holgotha, space walked onto the outer surface and made the trek to the ancient alien buildings on the inner ring. Was she immune to the radiation from the black hole? I watched as Jennifer phased through one of the buildings, disappearing from sight.

  I turned to the Curator. “Did she talk to Holgotha?”

  “You’re not watching,” the Curator chided me.

  I turned back in time to see Holgotha vanish—teleporting away. The Forerunner artifact left Jennifer’s stealth ship behind. If she’d parked the ship on the artifact, it would have teleported with it. We assault troopers turned Star Vikings had done just that with our ships back in the day.

  “Where did Holgotha go?” I asked.

  “Indeed,” the Curator said. “That is curious. I do not yet know.”

  “You haven’t looked for her or Holgotha from within your special viewing room?”

  “I have, but I haven’t found either of them yet.”

  “Where do you think Holgotha went?”

  “To the Plutonians,” the Curator said softly.

  “Why there?”

  “It is the one place I cannot look.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I assure you, I’m not.”

  “Great. So where are the Plutonians that you can’t see them?”

  The Curator shook his head.

  “Are the Plutonians in another dimension?” I asked. “As I recall, you couldn’t see into Abaddon’s former space-time continuum.”

  In lieu of an answer, the Curator stared at me.

  That pissed me off. “Why are you showing me this, then, if you’re not going to tell me what happened?”

  His lips tightened, although he said, “I believe the Earth, maybe all humanity, is in terrible danger.”

  “Why is Earth in danger?” I asked, exasperated.

  “Why? Because of you, Effectuator. Jennifer wishes to destroy what you love. It’s my belief that after she’s made you suffer, she will hunt you down and kill you in the most agonizing manner she can devise.”

  My gut clutched. “And you know this how?” I asked more quietly.

  “By my contemplations in the Hall of Mirrors,” he answered. “I replayed in my mind her various questions and responses. The conclusion seems obvious to me now.”

  It was my turn to stare at him. Finally, I asked, “What are you going to do about it?”

  He shook his head. “I will do nothing.”

  “You’re going to let humanity die?”

  “Not necessarily, as Jennifer may not survive her encounter with the Plutonians.”

  “Why won’t you do anything?” I demanded.

  “My role as Curator has nothing to do with the battles at the fringe of the galaxy. Let the strong survive and the weak perish. It is the remorseless law of nature.”

  “But if these Plutonians are like Jelks, and don’t belong in a lower civilizational zone—”

  “See here, Effectuator. You must realize that I’m constrained by the dictates that govern my actions. I will have to give an account to the Creator one of these days. I want my hands clean. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Let me go to Earth, then,” I said. “Let me fix the situation.”

  He gave me a searching look. “No,” he finally said. “I cannot. You are my Effectuator. My dictates govern the missions I can give you. Going after Jennifer to stop her from waking the Plutonians to destroy Earth and everything associated with it is not among my prerogatives. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You’re forbidding me from chasing her?”

  “You are my Effectuator. You are to wait at the Fortress of Light until I assign you a proper mission as suited to my tasks. Besides, if you left here and raced through endless jump gates, it would take you over two years to cross the twenty-seven thousands light-years to Earth.”

  “The Moon Ship—”

  “Is strictly off-limits to you on pain of death,” the Curator said, sternly.

  “So…you’re telling me to twiddle my thumbs until my next assignment while Jennifer and these Plutonians destroy humanity?”

  “I believe I have been clear on the subject. You must resign yourself to the probable fate that humanity is as good as dead.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  He gave me another searching look. “I am constrained, Effectuator. I have spoken.”

  “You know saving the human race from the Jelks and the Lokhars, and from Abaddon, was my abiding passion. Nothing else mattered compared to that.”

  “Jennifer stole some of Abaddon’s DNA,” the Curator said suddenly

  “What?” I said. “What does that even mean?”

  “She read volumes on creating clones from DNA samples.”

  “You mean bringing Abaddon back to life?”


  “Hardly that,” the Curator said, “but, I suppose, creating an army of Abaddon clones could now be within her power, or the Plutonians’ power, in any case.”

  “That’s…horrible.”

  “Hmm,” the Curator said. “Have you seen enough?”

  “Tell me about the Plutonians.”

  He shook his head. “I cannot. It is a forbidden topic. Now, I must leave. I have to repair the Hall of Mirrors. That is going to take considerable time and attention. Please do not interrupt me for the next several weeks, as I will be otherwise engaged.”

  “Uh…okay,” I said.

  “Grab hold of my staff. It’s time I took you back to your quarters.”

  “Right,” I said, giving him a questioning look.

  The Curator ignored it, and soon, we vanished from the chamber.

  -5-

  I went to my quarters because the Curator had told me to.

  I sat on my bed and thought about what I’d learned. Could the Curator have deliberately shot the yellow beam at me so he’d break the mirrors in the hall? That seemed preposterous. And yet, the meaningful looks, and the fact that he’d told me the name Plutonians even though he wasn’t supposed to talk about them, told me something.

  I was beginning to believe that the old boy wanted me to flee the Fortress of Light and race back to Earth. He obviously wanted to me to try to stop Jennifer and these Plutonians, as he surely knew me well enough to realize my reactions to certain news. It also made more sense now why I’d been able to slip past the safeguards keeping Jennifer off-limits.

  The more I thought about it, the more I believed I was right. The Curator was a canny old man, and he’d been acting a little too foolishly lately. Yet, if I was wrong about this…

  I rubbed my chin.

  The Curator wanted to keep his nose clean. He wanted to be able to say he hadn’t sent me to Earth.

  I shook my head. Would such a stunt trick the Creator? I doubted it. But hey, we each had our foibles. None of us acted one hundred percent rationally. Abaddon had kicked over the traces and fought against the other First Ones long ago. If Abaddon was anything like the Devil in the Bible, not even he acted rationally. How rational was it to rebel against Omnipotence, to fight against the One who couldn’t be beaten?