Emergence - Chris Harris (beach read .txt) 📗

Strom was woken by the tolling of bells, sitting upright in an instance. He remembered what his Raiser had told him: tolling bells meant danger; rhythmical bells meant joy. Even if he did not know the difference, the fact that the bells sounded at night should tell him that all was not right. Rubbing his eyes, he groaned deeply, before staggering out of bed and, ignoring the pile of clothes next to his bed, went to the window. The window was made of tinted glass, and the hue was alterable, meaning the window could be blacked out, or made completely transparent. In the darkness he fumbled around for a dial, only succeeding after slapping the wall a few times. He turned the dial, noting once again how stiff it was; he’d have to get someone to look at that eventually but he could scarcely afford food on top of his rent, thanks to the government’s 40% income tax. Granted, this was to pay for children’s individual Raisers; a one-to-one teacher to act as a parent to the child as its real parents were forced to work for 9 of the 16 hours in a day, but Strom, at the age of 19, had no children and had no intention of acquiring any.

The dial clicked into place and the window turned transparent.

The planet Raan’s capital city, Tapal, was not a good place to live if you lived in the North. The northern parts of the city were reserved for the lower classes, living in run-down skyscraper flats, with the outermost circle on the edge of the city being the poorest. These areas were riddled by crime, whether it be petty crimes, or serious organised crime, you would find it in the north. Very few of the city’s Enforcers patrolled the northernmost extremities, hence the crime remained. Traders also refused to work in the northernmost areas due to the level of crime; no one wants to risk their life while trying to fix an elevator. Strom lived in the Lower-North. This area was the tamest area of the north, mainly due to the newly-emerging middle-class populating it as well as its proximity to the Hub; the city’s retail, social centre, yet also the military and political centre of Raan. On the other side of the Hub was the South, which was where the upper-classes lived. There was very few skyscrapers in this area, but they were a home for one family or owner, rather than hundreds or in some cases, thousands. Enforcers patrolled the streets in droves, despite there being little-to-no crime in these areas. The south was a nice place to live, and from Strom’s window, he could usually see through the streets in front of him, straight into the hub, and the edge of the South.

 But the sight that greeted him was far from the norm.

It was dark but there were no stars in sky. In fact, light came from two sources: the military base in the centre of the Hub, a completely separate island with sheer drops around it into a ravine, accessible only by a single bridge over the ravine; and the things that descended from the sky. Strom recognised them quickly to be of Xaosian origin. Giant Titan-class troop transporters descended to the ground, while hundreds of small Reaper-Class fighter ships darted through the sky, laser bursts tearing through the Hub’s retail areas; obviously a scare tactic. The shop windows shattered, glass shards flying everywhere, the small pieces shattering again as they crashed to the ground. Some buildings caught fire and some simply exploded, the flames dancing in the breeze of the night. Strom’s attention was brought back to the Titan’s as one flew over his skyscraper, dropping clear spherical objects: Combat-Pods; these held troops and were used to quickly dispatch them. Pods smashed into the skyscrapers, destroying homes and dropping the troop off inside. Strom watched one of the pods as it was launched in his building’s direction. His heart clenched as it came closer and closer, beating faster and faster. A bead of sweat dripped down his neck in horrific anticipation.

As he realised exactly where it was to hit, Strom leapt to the side as the pod smashed through his bedroom wall. Fragments of plaster and brick flew into his room, and he threw up his arm to protect his face. His clothes were thrown across the room, and his bed was crushed beneath the pod.

The trooper emerged from within.

Clad head-to-toe in black armour, the Xaosian trooper held a threatening X-46 Devastator; a powerful weapon with three ammo settings: projectile-stun, acid, projectile-kill. Judging from the red light on the barrel, Strom concluded that it was the projectile-kill. He quickly sized up the trooper: medium height, but muscular build, hands uncovered due to the Xaosians’ long and deadly claws, helmet to protect face, with glass to cover the eyes. The Xaosian started towards him, and gestured with the gun.

“You will surrender, and you will live.” The Xaosian hissed; they had almost serpentine features to their faces. “Resist and you will die.”

Strom circled the trooper, working his way over to where the remains of his bed were. “Jus’ le’ me ge’ my clothes.” He muttered. The Xaosian watched closely, following him.

Strom fumbled round in the wreckage of his room and watched the Xaosian out of the corner of his eye. It was looking around Strom’s room, probably taking in the pod’s handiwork. Its back was to Strom...

Strom smashed half a bedpost onto the Xaosian’s head and, as it turned on him, knocked the X-46 out its hands with a strong uppercut. The Xaosian grunted in annoyance, before kicking Strom’s legs out from underneath him. Strom landed in the wreckage, a screw in the bed’s framework slicing his arm open. Thick red blood poured out, but Strom ignored it as the trooper started towards its weapon. Strom got up, ignoring his arm’s pain, and sprinted at the trooper, who brought the gun up to face him and pulled the trigger. Strom threw himself to the floor, avoiding the deadly projectile, sliding along the ground towards his foe. He stood as the Xaosian pointed the gun downwards, but Strom knocked the gun aside again, but the Xaosian kept hold of it and slammed the gun’s butt into Strom’s face. Strom’s world erupted into a red-tinted blur, but was still able to deliver a right hook into the Xaosian’s throat, knocking the trooper down. As Strom’s vision cleared, he kicked the gun out of the hole the Combat-Pod left behind. The Xaosian got to its feet again and deliver a blow to Strom’s ribs. He heard a crunch and tasted blood briefly, before it hurt to breathe. He began to pant as the fight’s toll took its impact. The Xaosian tried to deliver another punch, but Strom moved out of the way and into the kitchen, a small room with a small food-store and oven. He reached into a cupboard and brought out a knife and, as the Xaosian entered the kitchen, plunged it between the plates of its armour. Blood filled the helmet as its inhabitant shook, and then lay still. Dead.

Strom doubled over and spat blood onto the tiled floor; no reason to worry about ruining the place now. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply and slowly until his heart stopped racing. He went over to the Xaosian and unclipped its helmet. Its eyes were open, so Strom placed a finger on each eyelid and closed them, whispering “Res’ in honour.”

He snatched the knife out of the Xaosian's armour, before dashing into his apartment's hallway, grabbing trousers and a shirt from the drier on the way by and quickly putting them on. As he reached the end of the hallway, he looked back at the Xaosian; the first intelligent being he'd ever killed. The full sight of it after the initial adrenaline rush made him retch, not in disgust at the scene, but at the realisation that he killed him, brutally and efficiently. He tried to justify it in his head: He tried to kill me; it was self-defence. But then a sub-conscious part of his mind would intervene and say there were other ways to stop him. Strom shook his head, as if trying to shake off these plaguing thoughts like dogs with raindrops.

But screams from below echoed through the building, of men, women and children. Names were called endlessly, aimlessly. Even as Strom looked out of the hole that the Pod had made, he saw buildings crumble, Raanian pilots shot out of the sky and the all-consuming flames destroying the retail district, ruining families' livelihoods. The Xaosians will not hesitate to kill Strom realised, and they won't stop until Raan is gone. My family, friends, neighbours, everyone. Strom took a deep breath, clutched the knife tighter and swung the door open.

The halls between apartments were small and run down, usually devoid of light. Tonight was no exception, but as Strom passed the apartments, he could hear sobbing, or parents reassuring children, or cries of despair. Strom was sure that no other Combat-Pods had penetrated the building, but from inside, it was impossible to be certain. He looked around for the elevator amidst the crumbling brown paint on the walls. Stairs were deemed impractical for the skyscrapers, as they would take up room which could be used to house more people. The elevator doors opened with a whimsical “ping!” and Strom got inside and pressed the GROUND button. The elevator shot downwards and although Strom had lived in this building for most of his life, he had never been certain that it was supposed to be so fast.

The elevator creaked as it reached the bottom and with inappropriately jovial “ping!”, the doors slid open once more. On the ground floor, families poked their head's round doors to see through the glass doors to the outside. “Get inside.” Strom told a woman, who was carrying a newborn babe in her arms, wrapped in a white cloth as it bawled at the noises outside. The woman looked up at him and glared, before turning back to look at the destruction outside. Swearing under his breath, he shook his head: no-one would listen to him while captivated by the violence, even though they were vulnerable in the ground floor's hallway. Strom looked outside and saw the weapon he'd kicked out of the hole in his apartment. Sprinting, Strom headed towards it, the automatic doors sliding open for him just in time to stop him running straight into them. He grabbed the weapon and found it to be heavier than he expected. He felt a surge of relief; no-one got to it before him, but also felt a state of disbelief; he'd never pictured this. Although Strom was doing three years of military service, as was compulsory for 18-21 year old men, the simple fact that there had been no wars or major conflict on Raan for over two centuries made the service feel redundant and was mainly reduced to weapons and flight training, as well as patrolling around the Northernmost sectors of Tapal. No-one had ever pictured a war in this day and age, and now it was here. Clutching the weapon, he went back into the building and looked around at the people still in the hallway. He shook his head and adjusted the dial on the X-46 to Projectile-Stun ammunition. “Everyone inside now!” he roared, holding the gun so it was pointing upwards. People looked at him and flinched backwards. Strom pulled the trigger, and the sound of shot echoed through the hall. Someone screamed and retreated inside. “In! Now! Lock your doors, and don't come out!” he roared again. They retreated inside and Strom walked away, feeling satisfied, but