Revenge of the Spiders: Sons of Neptune, #2

​Chapter 1

Silver and blue gliders , small spaceships with crews of two and three, crisscrossed the open sky. Some flew at extremely low altitudes, and one even clipped the flagpole from the highest tower of the Peak Lodge. Other than attacking the nerves and spirits of the humans below them, so far the ships had done nothing more than pass over the land. No bombs were dropped, no weapons discharged... thus far.

As more Sayan ships whisked over the hotel, their distinctive whir, a high-pitched buzz, woke Sam early in the morning. He tucked his head under two pillows, but soon gave up and tossed them aside.

He popped his head out of the second-story window to see another ship swoop down and fly past the building. Low and steady at less than two hundred feet, its engine hummed softly, yet with that same irritating buzz he had grown to hate. Much like a beautiful cobalt-blue marlin slicing through the sea, it owned its own space, and today it owned the skies. The morning was starting out clear and warm for its flight to terrorize the humans. The sun hatched a sparkle off its wings.

Scanning us, he thought. The invasion continues for them.

After their first victory against the Sayans from Neptune’s largest moon, Sam’s confidence was high. Not all the others shared his optimism, but they worked to hide it. He was sure they would leverage help from Dexter into a winning move, or at least a compromise with the enemy, and he had convinced his friends to stand by him. While they might not get their planet back entirely, they could at least share it with the aliens.

If Sayans do indeed share.

That was yet to be seen.

Now that he was back at the Peak Castle Lodge, he had enjoyed a peaceful night of sleep that carried him long past the sunrise. He might have slept longer had the choir of spaceships not broken his dreams.

Sam looked down at his hands and flickered a blue spark between them. The odd circumstance of his alien heritage had not yet found a resting place within him. Much about it still troubled his heart and mind. He told himself nothing had changed; he was still the same young man from Earth, the same he’d always been. Just a boy who grew up on Jethro Tull and Rush music, Steelers games, D&D, and all forms of things Star, both Wars and Trek.

When all the dust settles, the facts remain. I was born on Earth. I am an Earthling.

And another voice in his head kept taunting him: Yeah, keep telling yourself that, kid. The voice sounded like Kermit the frog. Your dad was an alien.

After a quick shower, he slipped into his favorite blue flannel shirt—now torn at the pocket and right sleeve, and showing far too much wear—and crept downstairs to the hotel dining room. Tina was already awake and making instant coffee. Bohai, wearing a tight black t-shirt that showed off his athletic build, was helping her.

Mark was eating cereal with powdered milk and reading the back of the box; both of his sneakers were untied. His deck of Magic: The Gathering cards lay next to him on the table, never far from his hand. The scene could easily have been from a normal world, one that was not twisting toward a grisly end. The three of them looked unsuitably tranquil for the apocalypse. It made Sam laugh inside.

But then the whir of another alien glider faintly drifted in from somewhere above. The aliens were always there to tug him back to reality.

I already hate them.

Who’s in the tower?

Jason, Tina said, pouring hot water into a cup of instant grounds. It’s his second home, but at least his arm is healing fast. Stu’s out front with George, fixing one of the tanks, or at least trying to. The others are still sleeping.

How was it here, while we were gone? Sam asked.

It was nerve-wracking, but okay. She forced a smile, which looked partly genuine. We worried a lot, and Lucy detoxed a little. The kids played in the yard, and sometimes Mark helped keep watch.

Sam ran his hand over Mark’s head and ruffled his hair. Is that right, Mark-o Polo?

Mark made a thumbs up sign and continued reading his cereal box. There was a Frooty Loopy challenge to solve a puzzle on the back.

Bohai stirred sugar into his instant coffee, tasted it, and grimaced. This is Earth’s greatest loss. No more real cafes.

Did you really bring down two buildings? Tina asked.

Sam stirred his own cup and sat down. Not completely. Just a couple of floors.

What do you mean?

Bohai continued his rant. I mean, I’m not asking for a caramel mocha latte, but a real cup of java would go a long way toward healing my inner spirit.

Not you! I’m asking Sam, what happened?

We sliced a few layers off the Steel Tower.

High floors, Bohai confirmed. From floors fifty to sixty.

No way, Mark said. He pulled himself from the cereal box and scooted closer. Did you bomb them with the tanks?

Sort of.

Cool. Can I see?

Sam leaned in and whispered, No.

Aw, I never get to see anything.

Seems to me you’ve seen too much, said Tina. Kids shouldn’t even be touching guns, let alone shooting them.

I’m helping, Mark informed her. He went back to eating his cereal and reading the box. His hand subconsciously pulled his deck of cards closer to his bowl.

So, is this all done? Tina asked. We’re safe now? We can start living again, and rebuilding?

Not exactly, Sam said, sharing a troubled look with Bohai. We’re just safe in our area. For now, anyway. The rest of the world still has millions of lizards to deal with.

Assuming Dexter’s plan worked, Bohai pointed out. We don’t have proof yet that even the lizards around here are all dead.

Sam stared ahead and drank his coffee. He didn’t want to answer too many questions about the events in the city. Best to keep the conversation focused on the future.

We’ll send the drone out again soon.

Assuming it did work, Tina pressed him. That Dexter man will move around and spread his... his chemicals, his potion or whatever? He will clear the rest of the creatures out, right? Get rid of them?

Bohai formed an uncomfortable frown. He hated to be the one to break the bad news. It’s a big planet, Tina. He can’t hit every region. I doubt he can even clear North America before the Sayans come up with a new plan. And he can’t just get on a plane or a train and spread it.

We could drive him, Sam suggested. "We could split up, take his weapon, or anti-weapon, in all directions."

It’s possible, Bohai said, running a hand through his black hair, now getting a bit long. "But we don’t even know his own plans yet—what he has in mind. After he gets his little box, he might just communicate with the mother ship and leave us high and dry."

"Yeah, I heard he was an alien." Tina whispered the last word.

Guess what, Sam whispered jokingly, so am I.

Not the same thing. You’ve never left Earth. He was born at that other place. Right?

That broke Mark from his cereal box again. What?

Sam ruffled the boy’s hair once more and said, Never mind, kid.

Sam and Bohai gathered a set of empty containers and stepped behind the wall to fetch more water for their drinking supply. At the stream, Bohai questioned Sam again about practicing the art of his spark.

But there isn’t much of a point, is there? Sam asked. Now we know the invaders have the same power. The Sayans can do what I can do, and probably better.

More reason for you to get stronger, man. We need to counter them. Besides, something on Earth made you stronger already, I can tell. That man, that Sayan, Commander Kiern, wasn’t as strong as you. I saw the look on his face. If you hadn’t been drained, you might have hurt him.

Yeah, maybe, Sam conceded. I’ll keep practicing, if you think it’ll help. But our first priority is to help Dexter spread his toxin and get rid of the billions of mutations covering the planet.

I don’t think it’s a toxin. But I know what you mean. Like I said, North American Airlines doesn’t exactly fly anymore. That’s a lot of ground to cover without a plane.

Sam dipped his container into the stream and watched the water bubbles escape as it filled up. He noticed a few minnows darting back and forth beneath the surface. Why can’t we just drink the tap water in the hotel? It’s the same water we shower in.

I don’t think it’s safe, man. The pipes... I don’t know. Stu knows more about this stuff, and he said to wait until we get some filters on a supply run. Bohai waded into the stream and filled another container. We need to find a pilot and a plane.

Sam snapped his fingers. Wait. We have a plane!

We do?

We have Kiern’s ship.

We don’t.

Listen. Sam’s voice pitched higher in his excitement. When we left, the hatch was still open. We can get inside. We can fly it around the Earth and spread Dexter’s formula.

And you can fly it? An alien spaceship? Because I can’t pilot a flying saucer, and I’m pretty sure it’s not like in the movies.

Dexter! Sam said. I bet he can fly it. He’s actually from their planet; he’s an alien scientist. Think about it. He probably knows a lot of things.

Bohai screwed the lid on his container. This plan has more holes than Swiss cheese. Even if you might be right, why would he help us? Why would he fly it?

Why not? He hates the Sayans, and he put that formula together just to spite them. He wouldn’t have concocted it if he didn’t want to use it. Right?

I guess so. Bohai lifted his water container and looked inside. I think I accidentally got a minnow in there.

Well, that’s protein, I guess. So what do you think of my plan?

It’s not great. But if you really want to try it, we need to go find him, and quickly. Who knows if he’s even still on Earth?

They had gathered the water and started to leave, when Sam saw movement across the stream. An animal lurked in the shadows. As it crept into the light, Sam tapped Bohai’s shoulder.

Is that Zeus?

Bohai looked across the stream and shared a silent moment with his old friend. It’s him.

Is he hurt or something? Why doesn’t he come back with us?

He has a few things to take care of. He has to care for his own family. We’ll see him again, someday.

Another two Sayan gliders strafed overhead at an alarmingly low altitude. The tops of the trees rattled, and birds scattered in all directions. The big cat stopped drinking from the stream and disappeared back into the forest. A few crows stood their ground and squawked angrily at the flying machines. The ships did not care. They circled one more time before disappearing.

I’d give real money if they’d stop that! Sam griped. He pulled out his wallet and fished out all the bills he had. I’ve got twenty, ten, one, two, three... thirty-four dollars. It’s yours if you can stop them from all this flying madness.

Dude, you still carry a wallet?

Sam looked surprised at the question. Yeah, of course I do.

Why? Bohai laughed. Money isn’t good anymore, and you won’t need any ID. Are you worried about driving without your license?

That thought hadn’t occurred to Sam. He always carried his wallet out of habit. But now he saw how ridiculous it was. Old habit, he said. I hadn’t thought about it. I suppose I can just toss it. I don’t need my credit card. I guess.

Toss it away, man, Bohai said. It’ll be cathartic. Cleansing. Rid yourself of the evils of the old world.

Sam started to toss his wallet into the stream, and a part of him wanted to see it float away. But then he closed it instead and returned it to the back pocket of his disheveled, well-worn jeans. It belonged there.

No, I can’t do it. I feel naked without it.

Bohai smiled. He loved how human Sam could be. For a half-breed alien, he was more grounded than most full-blown Earthlings.

Besides, said Sam, "it would be like polluting the stream. We can’t do that. I can’t do that."

Good for you, Bohai said, and slapped him on the back. I know who to go to if I ever need a bonus-miles credit card... or a Cafe Leaf loyalty punch card.

Sam laughed. But he kept his wallet.

​Chapter 2

Two Russian helicopters circled the snow-covered landscape surrounding the classified A6 U.S. Research Compound at Nunavut, Canada, site of the project code-named: Helium. The soldiers were heavily armed and prepared to take the lab and its station by force, if necessary. And force would almost certainly be necessary.

Blissfully unaware of events unfolding back home in Moscow, they still thought their mission was active. They had been hiding deep in the Arctic Circle with total radio silence for three weeks, and now the men were anxious to capture their target and report their success back to headquarters. The captain was eager to collect his accolades, and maybe even a promotion.

Glory awaits us, shouted the captain over the noise of the turning rotors. His body leaned forward in its seat, both hands on the gear strapped to his chest. He was ready to disembark the moment the helicopter touched ground.

No one tried to hail them on the radio. No voice warned them to wait for clearance. There was a disturbing absence of life at the camp. No soldiers walked outside on the field to confront them. Zero resistance thus far, and that unsettled the Russians even more than a big show of force would have done. This didn’t feel right to the mission’s captain or his team.

The two helicopters landed on the soft field of snow to the left of the laboratory, sinking into powder before hitting the frozen ground beneath. The blades spun the top layer of snow around them like a swirl of cold dust.

The helicopters shut down slowly. The last blade gyrated to a stop, and a strange silence moved in to take the place of the motors. Soldiers stepped from the machines in single file and fanned out across the white plain. The sound of their boots crunching into the frozen snow competed with the howl of the wind. No Americans, Dutch or Swedes came out to oppose their incursion. The Russians had crossed over restricted airspace and landed in a highly controlled zone, but no one tried to stop them. Not even a radio warning.

Is this a trap? Do they know who we are?

The captain’s concern deepened.

Two faces appeared in the first building’s window, visible through filmy glass, staring back at the invaders. They watched the Russians with no expression or movement. Two soldiers raised their rifles and aimed for the faces but did not shoot. They waited for orders.

The captain was first to enter the laboratory building, followed by his right guard. The two American scientists stared back at him. He spouted a few words in Russian, and the two scientists raised their hands, noticeably frightened. They looked to be in their thirties, but the lines at the corners of their eyes were those of an octogenarian. Whatever had happened in this place, this had been a bad week for them. Judging by the emptiness, it was a bad week for everyone.

We are scientists, here on research, one of them said. We don’t want any trouble.

Trouble? the captain asked.

Are you back from Elk station? You have some information for us? What’s happening back home?

What you are babbling about...? asked the captain. Is what? Where is the artifact? You know what I mean.

The artifact? That’s why you’re here? As he spoke, the scientist glanced out the window. To the Russians, he had just betrayed the base’s biggest secret with a single look in the wrong direction, but the Americans still seemed confused about the Russians’ presence, why they were here.

Now we know direction to look, said the captain’s right guard lieutenant.

Thank you. The captain smiled widely at the two American scientists. You look tired. Please rest.

He raised his rifle and fired two bullets. Both of the American scientists fell dead to the ground, each with a hole in the head. The captain turned to his guard and said in Russian, Precision. I am the best shot. The best.

The right guard emphatically agreed and called in two men to help remove the dead bodies.

Outside, the captain took six of his men and trekked forward on foot across the ice into an expanse of nothingness. The cold sweeping wind bit at their faces, bitterly so, but they did not even adjust their thick parka hoods. They forged on, tracking their target. An orange rectangular flag in a snowbank proved they were on the right trail.

After an hour of trudging through the snow, they could see a dark shape in the distance. Little doubt remained that this was where the artifact was buried. The captain could feel success within his grasp. On this day, he still thought a promotion was waiting for him back home. For that matter, he still thought a home was waiting for him back home. Clueless, they marched on.

As they closed the distance, they could see the shape they chased was a dark-green tarpaulin covering something the size of a passenger jet, with a dozen tent poles underneath to prop up the corners and the center. Upon reaching the first opening, the soldiers stood on either side and waited for their commander. It was his privilege to go inside first.

The captain pulled back the tent flap and shined his light inside. The bright white beam flickered off something bronze, and the captain’s smile grew. This was the glory of their mission.

They had found it.

The artifact, comrades. It is ours.

His lieutenant stared ahead into the tent, his eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and fear, and he whispered, Victory is ours, my Captain.

Another man made the sign of the cross. And silently, he prayed.

​Chapter 3

Dexter’s compound lay nearly empty, abandoned like an amusement park at the end of summer. Closing time, go home. See you next year. Bring the kids again!

Except there would be no new season, and this wasn’t a carnival. It was a place of hardship and torment. For Dexter, it served as a refuge and a workplace. The moment the invasion started, the minute he saw the clouds of green, he knew what was happening, and he had grabbed his gear. He had moved quickly to secure this place, and to employ the bottom-feeding Grinners. He always knew the invasion would come. His doomsday plan had taken shape over a year ago, and unfolded like a road map: easy to open, difficult to close back up.

He hoped to never see any of the Grinners again, ever. Those men were a blight on the world, at least as bad as his brother, the great and powerful Loxtan Vhar of Neptune II. Maybe the Grinners were worse, in a different way. But now they were far up north in Buffalo, or even farther, and he was glad of that. If any returned, he would kill them.

Or maybe he wouldn’t.

He would let the moment guide itself. But he held those men in a special position of disregard. The invasion had saved some of the worst of humanity by sheer coincidence, or by reasons of geography. The fact that he had used them for his own means, that was something he was not proud of, but they had been so easy to manipulate. Those men and women resided one IQ point above a tadpole. And they disgusted him.

All except for Mitch, who was still useful. That scruffy nine-fingered man continued to lurk somewhere within the compound, and Dexter was almost happy to have him around. Happy was too strong a word; nothing made Dexter happy anymore. These days, he was just shooting for being content.

Now Dexter was back in the basement, again.

It was his third time today.

Under the dim light of a dirty glass hexagonal lamp hanging precariously from the ceiling, Dexter glared down at his communication box. He stared as if he might sear holes in it with his eyes. Thus far, he had received no reply from his message to his wife, and no reply to a second message sent to his brother, the President of Neptune’s moon.

He waited.

Hour after hour, the box remained silent.

Something is not right.

While he understood that his brother might not be so keen to send a quick response, formulating a calculated reply with care, there was no reason for the silence from his wife. She should have answered the call immediately. She would have, if she could. He was certain of this. Something had gone very wrong on his cold homeworld moon. His wife was in trouble, restricted in some way, another fact of which Dexter had no doubt.

Earth was not the only planet in the middle of a major transformation. With the invasion in full swing, political changes back home would be inevitable. The opposition to war had obviously lost, and the pro-invasion party was surely in control. Dexter thought his brother was pro-invasion, so now he wondered what his silence meant. Perhaps a third party was now in power.

War brings forth strange bedfellows. And chaos.

He fidgeted with a coin, rolled it in between his fingers, shifting it back and forth like a magician. Missing his wife was natural, but now he wondered why he had started to miss his brother. If given the chance, he would certainly kill his sibling, but now he didn’t understand his mind’s maudlin state.

Is it possible to miss someone you hate?

He brushed the thought aside and focused on a picture of his wife that was burned into his mind. An image of her holding a fabric flower, fashioned to mimic those on Earth. A real flower was something most Sayans only ever saw in photos. How he longed to show her a real one: a rose or a tulip. The plants here offered no disappointment. They were far more marvelous than any Sayan might imagine.

An idea then occurred to him. He crafted another coded message and sent it directly to the Sayan Council itself. Some tricks he had brought with him to Earth included codes to reach the very highest members of his government. If those had not changed in a decade—a great likelihood they had—he might be able to reach someone else on the Council.

Dexter sent a general message to his