Miriam walked up to Triggs and looked him straight in the eyes.
“And if you so much as breathe wrong – I’ll fucking kill you myself, you sick motherfucker. You’re only here on my fucking say-so. Remember that.”
DAY TWENTY-ONE
A group of Argon warriors had approached 1812 North Moore Street under cover of darkness, from the west, from North Fort Meyer Drive. It was only a small group, ten warriors had been deemed sufficient to overcome these human stragglers. They’d swum across the river unseen and made a long detour to avoid detection by their prey.
They all knew of the deaths of their colleagues at the Key Bridge Hotel, and the humans would pay dearly for their fallen comrades, especially the three traitors who had abandoned the cause and sided with the humans. Enak, Eled, and Siroll would be taken back to the main group at the bridge and would suffer ceremonial rape, followed by ritual skinning while still alive. A message had to be sent that nobody betrays their Argon roots. The humans had placed various items of furniture on the staircases to slow down the advance of any attack, but they were futile attempts at defence. These warriors were the elite, the Imperial Bodyguard, and negotiated such flimsy obstacles without a sound, checking floor by floor, until they heard voices the other side of the door to floor thirty-three.
The humans were expecting some kind of attack, but thought that they would at least have some kind of warning of an impending assault. They’d been watching the Argons gathered at the far side of the bridge and had seen nothing to suggest that an attack was imminent.
Once the Argons burst through the doors, they were met with a barrage of flying computer monitors and desktop PCs, which they swatted away like children swatting away a fly. An almighty roar bellowed from the throats of the attackers as they launched themselves at the humans.
Gunfire filled the room as the defenders tried desperately to see off the Argon assault. The Argon commander barked orders at his men, catching a Marine’s neck in a vice-like death grip and twisted the soldier’s head with the other, the crack of bones easily heard interspersed with bullets spewing forth from his falling automatic rifle, ricocheting around the room for a few seconds, and miraculously avoiding his co-defenders.
Marine Geek leapt onto the back of another warrior who was about to issue the same fate to Sitara and, with one clean sweep, sliced open a gaping hole across the Argon’s throat, a wound that caused the man to immediately drop to the floor as his body vomited blood from the Sicilian smile inflicted upon him by the marine.
Enak pushed his thumbs hard into the eyes of the Argon commander, whom he had wrestled to the floor and pinned in place with his powerful legs. The commander’s eyeballs became a white and red syrup, oozing slowly and uncomfortably out of their sockets, dripping down his cheeks, No longer able to see, the Argon was powerless to prevent Enak from smashing his fist into the alien’s chest, the shock of the blow stopping his heart immediately. Enak looked over to where Sitara was trying to extricate herself from the dead body of her attacker who had fallen on top of her in his death throes. He ran over to the scientist and lifted the dead Argon off her.
“Are you alright?”
Sitara was far from alright, covered in the Argon’s blood, but she was alive. Enak rifled through the dead warrior’s utility pockets and pulled out an object, which he passed to Sitara.
“Here take this. It will help you.”
Sitara thought she recognised the thing in her hand.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“Yes. It is his izimutam ahc obmoh. His molecule manipulator.”
Now Sitara understood.
“The bone-breaker?”
“Yes. The bone-breaker. A good name, for that is how you will use it. Position it on the body of your opponent and press the red button. If it does not kill him, it will severely damage him.”
“But I thought it was for healing?”
“If you press the blue button, yes. However, if you press the red button it will disperse the molecules.”
Enak then turned and launched himself once more into the affray, while Sitara targeted an Argon who had Miriam in his sights. The warrior, blind to everything but his prey, didn’t hear the scientist’s approach and let out an agonising scream as she forced the weapon against his neck and the bones within rearranged themselves into a disorganised confusion of molecules.
Although without the physical strength of his Argon friends, Jason was holding his own against the Argon invaders. After leaving the British Army he had continued his Kung Fu training, and learned to master the Wing Chun one inch punch technique that the late Bruce Lee had popularised. The Argons had never seen anything like it and, although it didn’t generate enough force to kill them outright, it was sufficient to knock them off balance for long enough that the ex-Para could pummel their heads in with the stock of his now empty Remington semi-automatic rifle. He instinctively ducked as Daniel Triggs’s severed right arm flew towards him, splattering him with blood as it grazed his shoulder. This was shaping up to be a repeat of the metro station massacre, although there would almost certainly be no survivors this time.
And then… silence.
Jason looked around, unable to comprehend what was happening. He looked at Sitara who, in turn, looked at him, her eyes blinking in astonishment. Jason heard a noise behind him and turned to see Enak, just as confused as the two of them. It was as if they were looking at a still photograph, or somebody had hit the pause button on a movie. The room was perfectly still, with both humans and Argon warriors frozen in mid-movement, along with three computer monitors and a paper shredder suspended in mid-air. Enak closed his gaping mouth and whispered.
“Are they dead?”
Sitara shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know. If they were, I think they’d have fallen to the floor, wouldn’t they?”
Jason was just as confused.
“Perhaps we’re the ones who are dead.”
Sitara patted herself down.
“I don’t feel dead. Do you?”
The other two shook their heads. A voice behind them startled them and they span round to see somebody approaching them through the group of statues. The newcomer, dressed in a well-tailored magenta Nehru-style suit, smiled as he drew closer.
“Don’t be afraid. Nobody’s dead.”
Sitara wasn’t sure that she agreed with the stranger.
“But they’re not moving.”
The stranger gave a knowing smile.
“They are perfectly healthy. They are in fact moving quite normally. As are you. However, you and they are passing through space-time at different speeds.”
Jason wanted answers.
“Who exactly are you? Did you do this?”
“My name is Dracip. We are the Jah, We are from a place hundreds of interdimensional leaps from here.”
Sitara grabbed Jason’s arm; she had only recently become used to Enak and his colleagues being aliens. She wasn’t really ready to meet any more.
“How can you speak Urdu?”
Enak interrupted.
“He is not speaking Urdu, he is speaking Argon.”
Sitara insisted.
“No. She’s speaking Urdu.”
Jason was really confused now.
“It’s English. And she is a he.”
Dracip’s constant smile never faltered.
“You each hear me speaking your own language, and see me as a slightly distorted image of yourself. To Sitara, I look and sound like a sister might. To Jason and Enak I look and sound like a brother. I have created an appearance that would be agreeable to each of you. Sitara, ever curious, was awash with questions.