Xemphobia
The Enemy Is Real
‘They have infested the island’ hummed the bronze cicada, whose obsidian eyes spotted a dozen parasites invading their hive grounds. ‘Help they are burning the younglings, send aid quickly.’ The shredding gunfire forced the cicada to hide in the foliage, praying to All Father, that the carnage would be stopped, it continued to hum louder to drown out the psychic cries of the children, who still gestate in their sacs.
***
The high rocks and soft sand on the beach were a prime location for breeding grounds, where the matriarchs could nest, pushing out dozens of writhing, mucus filled sacs that contain the fetuses of the new generation. Protected by a hardened layer of pus, the young were fed by the nutrients absorbed by their brood mothers, who rested upon them, allowing their bodily fluids to be soaked into their young.
Resting soundly on their nests, the mothers and their young under a peaceful night sky, spotted with soft starlight, and lighted by the full moon; they did not expect the plutonian hatred coming from across the water. Coming on boats that are long and obtusely triangular, fortified with smelted alloys, forming something that can be propelled across the sea at great haste, and carrying onboard an arsenal that from afar might’ve been mistaken for fireworks, but as it rose and descended, its high whistle ended in a hissing shriek that erupted into a deafening explosion of bombastic devastation.
Pink guts, a rainbow of bodily fluids, and scorched wounded bodies of the matriarchs flew all about, some tried to rise but couldn’t, they were crippled and mortally wounded by the barrage that continued to eradicate them and their nests. The brutality of the Xemtian genocide was a thing of pride for the plutonian soldiers, the alien race was something mankind believed should be exterminated if only to squash the potential evolutionary competition.
Slicing into the beach, the boats upturned sand and dirt as it split the ground upon landing, then the triangular heads of the boats opened as if they were the beaks of dozens of horrific birds of prey. Marching out of the bleak openings. automatons of flesh and blood, the lowly soldiers class, gestated in their sterilized wombs of glass and metal to perform the tasks set upon them by the Masters. Wielding mechanized weapons of great size, most far bigger than their wielder, feeding them anger inducing drugs into their systems by tubes filled with many medical wires and needles.
Steroid strengthened and mouths foaming with blood and spit the plutonian soldiers opened fired, killing what their artillery didn’t mowing down the pleading mother’s, their psychic cries of mercy ignored by the plutonian’s lobotomized brains, knowing only slaying, they acted out systematic genocide implanted in them upon conception as efficiently as a computer does with a chess program.
Hating and despising their enemy is infused into them at creation, so much so when the enemy is wiped out they turn against themselves, preprogrammed precaution by the Masters to prevent such violent weapons of flesh and blood to turn against their creators.
Leaders of the human race, the Masters are known to their human property as the top of the pyramid of social hierarchy of classes that blesses only a few with the advantages of luxury; for them life is like a banquenet with menus as thick as the bible, and whose wine list needs an abridged copy to prevent the meal from going cold. Others in a class that is even one lower to the top have only the binary choice of obedience or death, a circumstance long in the making, caused by a series of compromises and evil deals that ended in a complete surrender of history and sense of morals.
A man a class below the Masters, emerged from one of the ships, he didn’t possess magnificent strength of body but he had a courageous heart and is of sound mind, with the guts of a warrior poet, sympathetic at heart, his was that almost alike a child’s who had just been told that Santa Clause has died. A rare and cold man, whose face was both pallid and flushed, and slung across his obsidian military uniform a firearm of considerable firepower.
In his ear came a buzzing, a humming buzz, pressing it he heard a shrill click, and he heard a voice speak into his ear.
‘Attention Major Arton, this is a reminder to meet mission parameters by 24:00 hours, failure will result in critical X-termination.’ static filled his ear followed by silence broken by the vile hellfire that continued on the beach against the Xemtian nests.
The stench of acidic fumes carried in the breeze, Major Arton covered his mouth with his free hand, then stepped off of the metallic platform onto the sand that was covered by silver mist. In the haze of smoke from the flamethrowers and incendiary explosions, he saw gore, pink and purplish, with a rainbow shimmering on the organs.
‘If it were shades of red, I’d say they were brothers akin to us.’ sympathy from recognizing human similarities was stomped down by the boot of authoritative command, and Major Arton was forced to comply. A familiar stinging sensation on the back of his neck commanded him so, a flashing bulb vibrated in the nerves connecting directly to his brain, any resistance to his orders would be registered and met with a painful pressure to urge compliance.
Unlike the plutonian soldiers that stormed the beach, he retained some individuality and conscious thought, a dangerous trait to the Master’s which they regulated with the device implanted in the neck. When the crimson blinking turns solid red, it would send a deadly shock into the brain, reducing the brain into a functionless state. A severe punishment that hung over the heads of all commanding officers, a dire consequence that allows the Masters to make use of those with free thoughts, for they have the higher brain functions to think, strategize, and fulfill mission objectives.
Major Arton is one such officer, his memories of being drafted from his family’s farm at twelve, because he overperformed in the state issued intelligence test. Formerly surgical retardation would suffice in most cases, but the Master’s were on a military drive, and desired officers to guide their armies against the new enemy, the Xemtians, insectoid astronauts who came to Earth, for what reason the Master’s have not bothered to explore.
Extermination had become the creed when dealing with alien cultures and lifeforms, and Major Arton was to act as the vanguard of the latest purge of the insects. This drove them to isolated islands in the South Pacific, and deep into jungles, the numbers of them have dwindled, and after the latest assault they have added to the death toll considerably.
A whole new generation wiped out in pre-life, expunged by the plutonian troops, who were hyped up on their violent savagery.
“Attention!” ordered Major Arton, his words heeded by the genetically modified killers, who put their weapons at ease, so they could absorb their commands. “Start forming a perimeter, using the rocks on the beach for cover, I’ll set the ships to—” before he could complete his command the long ships closed their beaks, and with grinding haste started to pull away setting a course out to sea.
‘Major Arton, the ships will be pulled away, a precaution to preserve valuable assets. What is left is at your disposal.’
“—son of a—” the words were taken out of the Major’s mouth as a flash of light flared in the distance, and streaked across the beach, spraying molten sand into the air, as it eviscerated a plutonian in half. “Take cover!” The order was obeyed without delay, as the troops took cover behind rocks, returning fire at the tree line, where the ivory white beams were coming from; blazing hot light were followed by short laser shots from the trees, a barrage of light focused death.
Sniping three plutonian soldiers the Xemtian sharpshooters were masterfully skilled, but the madness of the plutonian soldiers bloodlust saw a return fire that halted the laser fire, the shredding bullets mowed down trees, the grenade launchers bombarded chunks of jungle, and flamethrowers were switched to long range, which turned the dense green foliage into a blaze of crimson hellfire.
‘Jesus, what are we doing?’ pillows of black smoke rose to the sky, plotting out the stars and moon, casting the jungle island into a shroud of shadows. In the flashes of combat fire, Arton could see their enemy, bipedal praying mantises, covered in armor like carapace, wielding rifles made from discarded hides and various steaming hot, throbbing organs. ‘They are making bio-weaponry.’ reports say they were unarmed, but since their arrival they have shown significant skills at adapting.
‘Is this the threat to the Master’s?’ That controversial thought sent an agonizing shock to the base of his skull. ‘Focus on the mission, focus on the mission.’ After there was rustling in the trees, indicating the enemy was moving away, Major Arton shouted out in a brief pause of fire, “Move out, into the jungle!” obediently the plutonians cleaved a way through with the retractable, massive, jagged bayonets attached to the barrels of their weapons, hacking down brush and trees, to continue their hateful assault.
***
Darkness was so dense they had to set the trees on fire to see the way forward. There had been no sign of the Xemtians, aside from empty hives and sludge trailing off into the treeline. Clear signs of evacuation reminded Major Arton of the racial purge he was assigned to in the inner cities. Entire city blocks were demolished, they were told all occupants were evacuated, but they all knew they were hiding inside, praying that they wouldn’t die.
Bodies were in the rubble after the buildings forced collapse, and were bulldozed into pits where cement trucks were waiting to cover up their misdeeds. The Masters needed reasoning for their cruelty then, not so much now, in fact Major Arton couldn’t remember what the Masters were known as before, he recalled they were called something else, but the more he tried to remember, the hotter the back of his neck got.
Not till he smelled his flesh burn did he expunge all thoughts unrelated to the mission from his mind. ‘We have to find the heart of the island, that is where we can place the beacon.’ With just manpower, the extermination would take too long, they had just enough to make it to the central power of the Xemtian colony, then there would be only just enough time to make it to the rendezvous point before the nuclear bombs were dropped.
Rustling in the trees stopped the moment's rest for the soldiers, the plutonians fired wildly, sounds of elastic screeches were occasionally heard along with a burst of gunfire. Occasionally deadly beams of light would shoot out at them, costing the lives of valuable soldiers, but casualties were still at an acceptability range, as long as one still stood to finish the mission.
Though Major Arton was the only one in the skirmish force that can operate the beacon, if somehow he was unable to, his team would be compelled by their genetics to fight till either they all died. Every plutonian mission was a suicide mission, some missions were only to gather battledata, the Masters were cruel tacticians and were above all questioning.
Major Arton felt a disturbing thought start to take form, but he forced it down into the black underbelly of his mind, trying to ignore the pain of having thoughts that would trigger his neck implant.
Following the compass attached to his wristwatch, he followed the directions he memorized from aerial photos of the island, spending a few hours leading his team into the densest part of the jungle. Sounds of animals became audible, tropical birds, the buzzing of non-Xemtian insects (or at least he thought they were non-Xemtian). Suddenly there was a scream of panic from within the ranks, spinning around in the direction of the sound, he only just got a glimpse of a soldier being dragged by the legs into the treeline.
Flamethrowers were fired in that direction, along with a hail of bullets that cleared out a large patch of trees; crimson flames lit up the darkness, the jungle became a contrast of scarlet and obsidian. Within the smoldering ruins of the jungle, they all saw the soldier, his torso was torn exposing his ribcage by jagged mandibles from some unseen predator.
“Keep in groups of three to four, no man goes alone.” Major Arton warned, as he felt the bristles of his beard straighten like cactus needles. ‘These are guerrilla tactics, we’ll be picked off from the shadows.’ “Tighten formation, and start setting more fires.” darkness around them became distant, as the flames they set started to spread all around, leaving only the way forward.
Heat pushed them deeper into the trees, eventually the sounds of the jungle could not be heard over the growing blaze. Progress further-in finally ended at a black abyss, a void of emptiness with no light could be seen within, it was then that the wall of fire behind them wavered and crackled.
“Something is behind us, alert!” Major Arton’s words were cut off by the gunfire and the scrambling of gigantic limbs of bristly hair and bullet resistant hide. Tarantulas as big as rhinos charged in, their fangs gnashing and their clawed legs lashing out, mauling the first line of plutonian soldiers.
As they were impaled or lay disemboweled underfoot, they had enough strength to initiate the suicide implants, that activate by pressingtheir thumbs into their necks, the explosives implanted in their ribcage went off sending shrapnel of bones and molten guts in all directions, the tarantulas caught in the explosions were badly burned, and started to bleed through their dense carapace.
Fear was a familiar sight understood by all plutonians, even in black pearly eyes, and near emotionless insect faces, this show of weakness emboldened the soldier, who plunged into the tarantulas tearing them limb from limb with their barbaric powers. Bewildered by the smells of charred gore and rising smoke, Major Arton fell back over the edge into the abyss.
***
The cicadas are dead, the fire had burned them to death, or the smoke choked them to death. Fire has spread all over the island, leaving the shallow lakes and rivers a safe haven for the Xemtians; even the plutonian soldiers are being caught by the fatal blaze. If looked at from the sea one would’ve guessed a volcano erupted, sending burning ash and smoke high enough to set the clouds aflame.
Hell had erupted on Earth, the Masters desired a certainty of utter genocide that only a nuclear warhead can provide; launched into the heart of the Xemtian’s home.
***
Walking in waist high water, Major Arton fell a short way, firearm at the ready, he waded through the smoothe, still water, feeling nothing impede his path. Something was amiss, there was a sultry heat in the air, like he was just outside a gaping maw, exhaling on him from the darkness. Putrid stench filled his nose, and he wondered if this was the heart of the island? Could be, but he had to be sure, despite the feeling of eyes all around him, his fear only held him off from his action for half a second.
Turning on the light on his automatic rifle, he saw how little the white light revealed in such absolute darkness. However, moving it around he saw he was surrounded; mouths filled with sharp fangs, pearly black eyes, and insect scales all shimmered in the light.
“Jesus.” he said aloud, unafraid of his own death, but terrorized at the anticipation until his own demise. All about the darkness, the Xemtians had taken refuge in the water, as the flames engulfed the island, creating a wall of hellfire blocking most escape routes. ‘Might as well activate the beacon right here, right now.’ Pulling it out from a pouch on his belt, Major Arton held the device, it was no bigger than his hand, with a unlit light on top, and a switch on the side, all he had to do was push with enough force to switch it on, and his mission would be accomplished, whether he got out alive or not.
Darkness all around him stirred, as if all of the insects knew what he held in his hand.
“Please, have mercy.” begged a powerful voice coming from his right, turning he pointed his light and looked at a gaping maw with eyes covering its massive body, whatever he saw, seemed to hold authority. “We mean no harm, we just wish to live, live in peace to raise our families, we will not intrude on human domains, please, we beg for the lives of our children.” The voice didn’t come from the maw but from the air, and was translated by the human mind as English speech.
“You’re in my head…” Major Arton was flummoxed, telepathy was stuff of science fiction, but this was real life, his life. “...my mission is clear, I have to, what choice do I have?”
“There is always a choice for mercy, please, tell your leaders we want peace, we only killed your men to defend our families lives, please, leave us in peace, we came here only to escape violence, we are not evil.” Truth was in those words, even if it was a lie, a falsehood to protect one's own existence.
Thoughts of disobedience, of mercy caused the light on the back of his neck to blink rapidly, sending skin tightening pain through his body. Screaming out loud his pain, he regretfully obeyed the Masters, “I have to!” and turned the switch, and an electronic squeal sounded off, and all about Major Arton there was movement as the Xemtians fled.
Dropping the beacon and his rifle as something larger pushed him aside to escape the incoming nuclear extermination, submerged into the blackness he saw nothing. Moments or minutes later (he really couldn’t tell) he resurfaced and he felt nothing in the blackness, he hurried towards the direction of the crimson light.
The heat stiffened his skin, and he could barely breathe, climbing out of the water, he sought a safe passage through the flames. Plutonians and Xemtians were fighting before being consumed by the fire, smoke was dense, so much so that Major Arton put his shirt over his mouth, and stayed low, avoiding the falling timber and heavy smoke.
He needed to get to the south beach, it was the extraction point, he hoped the Masters wouldn’t leave him to die, a thought that didn’t set off the light on his neck, he touched it, and to his horror and relief it was detached from his body. Loosely it moved around under his flesh, the detached chip caused blood to rush to the surface, but that wasn’t a concern for him at that moment.
Running as fast as he could, he felt the fire eat at his clothes, and burn his skin, black patches formed on his arms and face, and it seemed he was too far away to save himself, he wanted to give up, then he heard something, it was a low miserable cry.
Not far from him to his right he stumbled upon a Xemtian , a mantis-like insect with a centipede body and large wasp wings. A falling tree had pinned it to the ground, and it needed that little extra help to push off the burning tree. Major Arton looked down upon it with pity, a deep sympathy that was not allowed to him before, acting without further thought he used his own strength to help lift the tree, an action that the Xemtian chirped her appreciation for, as both their efforts lifted the tree and freed her from certain death.
For the briefest of moments they shared a knowing look of appreciation and to return the favor the mantis hybrid took the human soldier onto its centipede lower back and flew it into the night sky. Avoiding the rising flames, and holding their breath from the smoke, they flew across the island in a remarkably short time.
Major Arton looked out into the night and saw other Xemtians flying away from the island, carrying with them others of their kind, trying to escape the destruction. Sadly ships positioned around the island shot down many of them, and he wondered if any would survive.
Nearing the south beach, Major Arton motioned for the Xemtian to let him down, as he saw his extraction ship waiting to take any survivors away. Landing near the beach, the Xemtian allowed Major Arton to escape the devastation he helped wrought, though he didn’t know why, he could only surmise that perhaps the insects were more humane than humans have become. Rushing to his ship, he paused as the boat opened its beak, to wave at the Xemtian who flew overhead, and he hoped and prayed would make it to somewhere safe.
Walking into the darkness within, leaving the fire and death behind him, he was determined to talk to the Masters, imploring them to show the mercy he was shown that night. Give the alien insects a chance to become part of Earth’s ecology, and perhaps both can learn and grow alongside one another, a pleasant thought that he was too light headed to form a pessimistic thought against.
The beak shut, and the boat jetted away, getting enough distance from the island not to be destroyed as the obliterating missile landed down, evaporating the island, and all caught in its radius of total destruction.
***
In the darkness of the boat, Major Arton felt an aftershock that nearly floored him, but he retained his footing, and waited a long time in the dark, till the lights of the consoles around him turned on, and a doorway materialized in a white light.
Standing there was one of the Masters, dressed so sharp he could cut himself, with wrinkly blue skin that made him look far older than humanly possible. Walking out of the doorway, he seemed disinterested in the task he was given by his peers, but would find joy in it regardless.
“You did well Major Arton, despite the thought censor breaking you managed to complete the mission and survive, those are desirable qualities.” the Master spoke as if he was evaluating a dog's performance at a show, with clinical indifference for feelings of the subject. “I must say it is time for a promotion. Congratulations Lieutenant Arton.”
Major Arton was taken back, he wanted to speak on behalf of the Xemtians, he might’ve too if he didn’t see a figure walk through the lighted doorway. The figure was that of a man dressed like him, but with new adornments assigning his rank, and was a copy of him, but with less flaws.
“Who is that?” Major Arton barely could speak, after a painful block in his mind he managed to ask the dire question.
“That is Lieutenant Arton, he is your promotion.” The Master had a slight, razor thin grin that betrayed his sadism.
“But…aren’t I getting the promotion? I don’t know—”
“Exactly, you don’t know, you didn’t know till now, and he won’t know till later, his mind is still new, fresh you see, once you're dead all the relevant data the chip sent to us will be edited and installed without much delay.”
Before Major Arton could speak he saw the gleam of a gun barrel being raised by his doppelganger, who fired at him with fatal precision.
“Now toss him overboard.” the Master ordered. “He’ll start stinking soon enough.”
The beak of the boat opened, as the boat sped across the ocean just as the sun was rising in the horizon, Arton wasn’t dead yet but was fading fast, he watched unable to fight back as he was dragged by his successor across the floor and without hesitation tossed into the sea.
In his last moments of free thought Arton could only guess but he was quite sure he was right, that he might not be the first Arton, memories blurred in his mind about his past, a past that seemed so long ago, too long for his age. Arton the first might have been drafted, and once he served his purpose his genes and experience were too valuable to let die, so the Masters with their advancing tech cloned him, one for each of his previous promotions, removing all traces of his epiphanies and growing humanity from the newest incarnation.
‘How many times did I discover mercy?’ that was his last coherent thought as he sank into the sea, looking up into the sky of a new cloudless day, and he wasn’t sure but he died believing he saw a Xemtian flying in the sky, perhaps it was the one he saved—he didn’t live long enough to consider that, as his body sank into the dark depths of the sea.