Red Blue Genesis: Chapter One

Scene One

Every drop hit Jack Cable like a brick, his eyes wincing and head rolling from side to side as he tried to avoid the blows. The sound of waves rushing by his ears after each impact caused his arms to kick out and fight, he clawed and yelled out until feeling himself upon a cold, and hard surface.

“Jack?” A voice called, the rush fleeing from his ears as his eyes snapped open. “Jack, Are you alright?”

He was staring at her boots, and he rolled off his side and onto his back, staring upwards at Lily Thompson. The Resource Manager’s dark eyes were wide with concern, her thin lips dry and pressed tight.

Pat. Pat. Pat.

His eyes cast towards his bunk, where water dripped consistently from the cave-rock ceiling and onto his bed. He wiped his face with the back of his hand as he found her doe-like gaze once more. “How’s our water rationing?” he asked.

Her face pinched together as she responded, “Good— Well, for what we need to survive, that is.”

“Right. Good.” He pulled himself from the ground, the world spinning around him briefly as he placed his hand on the wall made from metal scrap. “What’s for breakfast?” He moved past her, letting her follow quickly behind his fast pace.

“Mushrooms.” She uttered a soft curse as she moved to keep up with him. The halls within the Blue Enclave widened and narrowed nonsensically, the cave ground patched here and there with metal panels to make for a smoother walk. Warm lights flickered down the path as Resistance Workers squeezed by one another. “In a tube,” she added as she closed the gap between them. “That’s irrelevant for you, of course, as it’s nearly dinner time.”

He took in a deep breath of the damp, cool air. The musty smell hardly detectable to his attuned nose. A Mother inclined her head towards him in respect as he passed, her mouth mumbling thanks as she pulled a newborn baby close to her chest. He didn’t know her, but their numbers grew daily, perhaps even recklessly. It didn’t matter. Every life counted to him.

“Where are you going?” Lily spouted, her hand grabbing his elbow and halting his steps.

“To do my job.” He politely pulled his arm away. He had been up late as the activity in the enclave died down, night after night waiting for the signal. The pulse was picked up for fifteen seconds every twenty-four hours, the binary decoding into a faint code. A language unmistakably that of the Elohim. It was the same every message over and over again, and he was nowhere close to translating it.

She groaned, following in his wake as he continued to greet friendly faces in passing. “It’s a trap, Jack,” she argued. They stepped down the metal stairs that lead out into a more opened space— the Enclave’s Command Chamber, where tech specialists, and communication coders were working to keep the Resistance alive and safe. The chamber walls were reinforced by steel panels, each streaked with moss. Near the front, a cracked, concrete table sat, the salvaged shortwave receiver dangling its wires across and over the edge.

He spun on his heel, causing her to nearly collide with him. “You were in my hold. Why?” He looked down at her, watching the many different feelings pass across her face within a second. He shared none of them, only tolerating her presence out of necessity.

She settled upon her anger. “I was in your hold to discover why no one has seen our leader for half a day, and to inform you that we are rationing our antibiotics, due to a mishap from a supply worker.”

He cursed, turning away from her. He started for his table, where a still-lit datapad awaited him. Before he could even order it, Jules swooped by and set down a cup of coffee— mushrooms and water more like, but it was close enough. He nodded appreciatively at the young lady. She had only been his assistant for two weeks, and already he couldn’t live without her. There was no crying if he said something in too harsh of a tone, often without realizing it, and she quickly learned his patterns and schedule without being commanded to.

“Another pretty face at your beck and call,” Lily sniped from behind.

“Send out scavengers for scouting and collection. Mild risks only,” he ordered, ignoring her petty remark. “Distill what you can with minerals, and reach out to our trade partners for a temporary increase of supply.”

He set to work, not sparing a glance in her direction as he sifted through the datapad. He could feel her glare, like daggers into the side of his head, and he sucked in his cheeks as he waited for her to affirm and take leave.

“Yes, Sir,” she finally lamented.

He breathed happily as she left, and Jacob swooped in with a whistle.

“She’s easy on the eyes, but the ears…” He brought a hand to his blonde head, mimicking the act of a gun shooting.

“Nothing is easy about that woman,” Jack muttered to the big-eared and wiry Tech Specialist. Jacob was the best around, young, smart as a whip, and focused on the mission. He didn’t just do what was asked of him, he understood why. The two of them had been pulling all-nighters, though Jacob still rose before noon.

Youthful energy.

“What’s new?”

“ʾsak-ul ʾalhim-at.” His delivery was butchered, almost comically so, but no one among them eloquently spoke the alien tongue. “As for it’s translation, well… We’re working on it.”

Jack rubbed the ridge of his brows. Two weeks and they still couldn’t understand a word of it. Humans that both spoke and read the Elohim language were rare, and usually highly trusted. Abedims. Loyal servants. They would never trade their lavish lifestyle to help the resistance.

But we need one.

“I see the wheels turning,” Jacob remarked. His blue eyes sparkled with glee as he leaned over the table. “Spill it, Boss.”

“Not yet,” he replied. “Where’s Casey?”

Jacob shrugged. “Sleeping in her hold, probably.”

He stepped away, his steps quick and determined. He went down the hall of holdings, far beyond his own as he descended down and deeper into the cavern. He knew the way well. Whereas he worked into the night, and slept when the sun rose, Casey Vaccaro partied late and slept even later.

He didn’t knock, she was long past such chivalry. The door flew open, its metal frame rattling hard against the wall. Curses and blankets flew as the naked bodies in the bunk scrambled to cover up.

“What the hell, Jack?”

“That’s Commander Cable to you,” he calmly stated, shoving the terrified young man back into the bed. “Sit. Stay.” He pointed his finger, certain he recognized the young man from the Scavengers.

“Y-Yes, Sir, Commander Cable, Sir,” he mumbled.

Casey rolled her light eyes, pulling the blanket tight and above her breasts. “Privacy is evasive enough down here, don’t you think, Sir?”

“One— You’re late for work, so you’ve already sacrificed your privacy— and two— I need you to get me into contact with that Defector from Mars. Now.”

“Martians run on strict schedules, I don’t think—”

“I’ll be in my office. Be dressed, please?” He shut the door just as her mouth opened to argue.

Scene Two

“You’ve lost your mind,” Harris bluntly stated. The Lead Scout had been at his side since they the founding of the Enclave, and there was no one whose opinion Jack valued higher. “If you think they keep an eye on us, imagine how closely they monitor the movements of their most beloved Abedim. It’s far too risky.”

Jack had expected such resistance. “You can’t win a war without risks.”

“Look around, Commander,” he argued, his hands gesturing to Jack’s office— rusted panels, a fabric-torn chair, and a dented metal desk— as salvaged as the rest of the Enclave. “There is no war. Right now, we’re surviving, and if you push too far there will be an entire patrol of Cherubims on our heads before we can even breathe.”

“He’s got a point.” The unwelcome addition to the discussion belonged to Casey, who yawned and stretched upon entry, her brunette hair bulled back into a messy bun. “Of course, the Commander is right. We can’t sit around and wait for them to find us.”

He pointed at her. “Thank you,” he quickly said. “For the sensibility, and for wearing clothes.”

Harris raised a brow as she flipped him the bird.

“Yes, risks are necessary, but the timing matters.” Harris stepped from his place along the wall, his hand scratching the hair on his squared jaw. “Our boys are good, but we don’t have enough that I’d trust with such a mission.”

“That,” Jack began. “Is why she’s here.” He gestured towards her as if presenting the next act of a show.

Casey took the liberty of flicking on the receiver and jammer— both salvaged from the United World Alliance Military after the war. “Contact: Jacob,” she stated. “Yes, yes, I’m awake. Stop talking— Have the Coders flood out decoys. We’re making an outside call.” She ended the communication, and a low hum sounded in his ears as the signal synced up to each of their neural links. “Contact: Jamie Hamilton.”

The crackling in his ears followed by the call pinging confirmed the synchronization. Casey spoke, the voice in the call delayed from person, “Relay Zero-Five to Vaulter Twenty-Two. Confirm cleared.”

There was a slight pause before a deep tone replied, the accent noticeably English. Jack couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard an Englishman speak. “Vaulter Twenty-Two to Relay Zero-Five. Confirmed.”

“Good morning,” she sang. “Apologies for the unscheduled contact, but I have someone very important who would like to speak with you.”

“It damn well better be,” Jamie Hamilton replied, his words short. “They notice everything, and everything they notice is remembered. I had to step away from an Op prep to take this.” The quality of the call dipped at odd intervals. Such was the nature of using salvaged communication tech that had to be masked to avoid detection, and relayed through hacked and outdated neural links.

“Morning, Hamilton. This is Commander Cable of the Resistance. I’d stroke egos with you, but our time is short: You want to enlist? I can make that happen, but we’ll need you to do something first— a kidnapping, of a High Lifer— the most loyal of Abedims.”

Laughter cut in and out through the crackling. “You really are ‘Mad Jack’, aren’t you?”

Jack shrugged, though Jamie could not see it. The nickname had never bothered him, in fact, he quite liked it… And it’s quite true.

Jamie continued, “Well, Commander, I’m a bit mad myself, but I’m not a fool. Good luck on your ambitious endeavors.” The call dropped, and an awkward silence fell upon them as the connection to the receiver followed suit.

“Well, that went swimmingly,” Casey mocked.

“Surely you didn’t think he’d actually go for such a plan?” Harris closed the distance, anger brewing in his hazel eyes. “More importantly, that you’d consider bringing in a traitor into our mists. That you risked everything by communicating with him and never thought to let me in on it.”

Jack held his gaze as their faces came within inches from each other. “It was a recent contact, picked up and thoroughly cleared by Casey, and yes, if we’re going to succeed, we’re going to need more like him.”

Harris threw his hands in the air as he paced away. “He’s a killer, Jack. An Exterminator. He’d execute his own at the enemies command.”

“Killers are what we need, especially the ones who experienced the War. Jamie Hamilton is a hero in London— or at least, last I heard.”

“Exactly. ‘Last that you heard’, because we haven’t heard a damn thing from London in years. We have no knowledge of what’s been done to him, what he can and cannot hide from the Elohim.”

Casey put her hands on the desk as she leaned in, her lips twisting. “Did you not hear the part where I cleared him? I’ve been working on this contact for months. His link is secure, and all communications are masked. As for his motives, I believe him.”

He snorted. “Great. You believe him. What’s that worth?”

“Enough bickering,” Jack ordered. “We’re struggling. We hide it well enough, but the enclave is overflowing and supplies are dwindling.”

Harris shook his head. “Then explain to me, how bringing in a traitor to run a mission that would undoubtedly fail fixes any of that?”

“The Signal we’ve been receiving, it’s important. I know it.” He held up his hand as Harris dramatically made a fist, turning as if to swing out his frustrations. “But— to decode it, we need someone who truly knows and understand the Elohim. We’ve been lacking this for some time, and it’s the only way we’re going to get the edge on them, to get access to more supply wells, and better organized— Signal be damned.”

Harris faced the wall, his arms crossed as he sighed loudly. “The Exterminator isn’t allowed to step foot in the Enclave until the mission is complete.”

“Of course. We don’t want him leaving a trail.”

Harris continued, “The Abedim needs to be older— someone with nothing to lose and hasn’t been brainwashed since they were in diapers— and I get to punch them in the face. Just once.”

“I’ll hold them,” Jack agreed.

Casey took a seat on the desk, positioned in-between them. “That’s touching, but if you’ve forgotten, Jamie Hamilton sternly declined.”

“Sounds like quite the night you’ve got.” He patted her on the back, his fingers nearly catching in the torn fabric of her repurposed UWA fatigues. “No one better for the job.”

She made a face. “What’s that?”

“Cheer up,” he added. “You can always join Jacob and I in the Command Chamber when you get lonely.”

Harris marched by, accepting of the plans but his mood still sour. “What a headache this is going to be,” he muttered. “You bums enjoy your banter. I’m getting started before I change my mind.”

“Mind if I make myself at home, then?” Casey plopped down in his chair, putting her boots on his desk as she leaned back. “Going to get comfy. I reckon he won’t be calling back for a bit.”

“You do that.” He pointedly removed her boots from his desk before he left. The next step for him was obvious: Henry Marsh.

Scene Three

Henry’s eyes were glued to the clean walkways, lined with turf patches and free of the slums’ rust, and debris. Laughter drew them to the balconies above, where young Abedim boys looked down into the depths of the slums, spit hanging from their mouths in long strands before finally dropping below.

He took a final drag of his cigarette, flicking it upwards and hurrying his steps as a boy yelped in surprise.

Punk little sheenrats.

It was the reality under Elohim rule— an entire class of humans turned obedient servants. Traitors to those who suffered under alien occupation.

But they live better.

The Dominion Heights was a fortified upper-level zone in Manhattan’s central megablock. It stood fifty floors above the toxic slums, accessible via private elevators with biometric scanners. The upper levels of Manhattan were a dream. Clean, safe, and orderly— a glimpse into what humanity once had without alien overlords to enforce it. It’s what made the dream of the High Life jarring, as for all of the well-dressed and clean Abedims that walked about, there was a watcher drone hovering near them. Patrols of Abedim Enforcers lead by an eight-foot and black armored Cherubim— the warrior class of the Elohim. Everyone’s steps were quick and their eyes glued to the ground.

Ahead, the Enforcers held a checkpoint— their dark, bowl-like helmets never ceased to pull a smirk to his lips, and the high collars didn’t help, either. That smirk usually faded by time the plasma blades drew his eyes. He knew the pain those delivered all too well, and could feel the scars on his body burning just at the sight.

The amber lighting that coated the High Life glowed warmly from their recessed fixtures above. The Megatower looming before him was packed with diners, bars, clubs, and shopping. An all-in-one Abedim entertainment palace for their good behavior.

He stood still, staring straight ahead as the red light worked over his body from head to toe. His pale face flashed on the projection next to the Enforcer, his entire identity laid out in text:

NAME: HENRY MARSH

AGE: 32

HEIGHT: 5’11

WEIGHT: 178.1

OCCUPATION: UNEMPLOYED

STATUS: ABEDIM CONVERT

OBEDIENCE: +2.25

RESIDENCE: SLATE TOWER #4, APARTMENT #4821, LOWER CENTRAL

The Guard’s beady eyes scanned him as if he were hardly there. “Congratulations on your loyalty bonus.” He gave Henry a slight shove forward, his tone taking a sour turn, “Now get a job.”

Henry chuckled as he moved, dismissing the Enforcer with a wave of his hand. “You think I’m here for a good time?” His teeth ground as he entered the Megatower. Abedims could be born and bred loyal servants and never see a bonus, much less the second percentile— and he’d done it as convert— a recently unemployed one, at that.

What a good little sheenrat I make, he thought bitterly.

He turned with a small group heading towards the same elevator. As each Abedim passed through the entry they were scanned again, their identities verified, faces noted in time and place. You couldn’t breathe without the Elohim monitoring.

The elevator kicked to life quickly, stopping at every level between twenty and forty, the latter being his destination. He stepped off, fighting the urge for another cigarette as he surveyed the laughing Abedims pouring out of the “Serene Echo”. They were buzzed, walking unsteadily and leaning on each other for support. It wasn’t a buzz from a substance. The Elohim wanted the Abedim clean as a whistle, and they were tested daily for alcohol and hard drugs.

The group stumbled by him, they’re eyes lit as they laughed at their own clumsiness.

Low-Drift freaks.

“Low Drift” or “InfraBuzz” were the terms for such music— played mostly in Abedim clubs to induce a safe-high. The music was infrasound played at low volumes, causing subtle body vibrations and vestibular stimulations. For the Abedim, it was the most euphoric feeling they’d ever have, but for Low-Lifers, it was just a headache.

The bar had sleek white countertops, gray velvet sporting the stools, and black floors so polished you could see your reflection. The atmosphere was quiet, calm; the conversations light and barely discernible— a far cry from a club in the sublevel slums, where everything was shoddy, barely holding together and the patrons were loud and under the severe influence of something bad.

A large, holographic number lit the back of the bar, counting down until the next “buzz” from Low Drift. The Abedim patrons used the break to sip non-alcoholic drinks from crystallized glasses.

A clean-cut man with boyish features waved at him to draw his attention, gesturing to the empty seat next to him at the bar. “Jon Baron?” Henry asked as he took a seat. The Man looked to be in his forties, despite the youthful jaw and cheeks. His dark hair was neatly combed, not a hair on his chin.

“And you must be Henry Marsh.” He held out his hand and they shook before Jon slid a glass his way. “Apple Fusion,” he called to the bartender. He turned to Henry. “It’s new— grab one with my son every morning now.”

“Ah, family man,” Henry remarked, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous Abedim bars were. He plastered on a thankful grin as the bartender poured the nitro apple juice into his glass. What he would give for a proper drink.

Jon took a sip, nodding. “Five kids and counting,” he revealed.

Henry did a mock toast before throwing back his glass. It wasn’t alcohol, but damned if he didn’t still enjoy the fruity taste. “Quite a woman you’ve found. Just looking at kids makes my hairline retreat.”

Jon smiled, he had an easy one and used it often. “I’m a blessed man. The Elohim have treated my family well.” He took another sip before continuing, “You see, what stood out to me about your application is how much you remind me of myself— a convert, born in the slums, working hard, going above and beyond to climb into a better life. Loyal, determined, just as I was. Six years as a convert and already two percentages above most Abedim bloodlines is astonishing.”

He kept his face appreciative, ignoring the sour churning within his gut. “I’ve worked hard, and I have good connections, I’ll admit.”

Jon laughed. “I saw that— dating a Kendall girl. Nicely done.” He raised a brow, leaning in. “You know, between you and I, my wife is from a Gold family— Don’t get me wrong, I married her for love, but the networking helps.” He slapped Henry on the back. “Let’s talk business— Clerk position for Processing and Compliance. This a very serious role, and you have to be able to… detach to some degree. I need a cold man, all about the rules and the numbers. That may sound dramatic, but some High Lifers don’t have the stomach for it.” He took another sip, slowly but surely emptying his glass. Henry’s had been empty for a hot minute.

“City can’t run if no one’s keeping ‘em in line.” Every sheenrat word out of his mouth made him want to zero the entire bar before sticking the gun under his own chin.

Jon smacked a hand on the bartop. “Exactly— and if you can do it, the benefits…” he trailed off, grinning with raised brows as his hands spread out.

Henry grabbed his empty glass, raising it into the air. “Here’s to compliance and great benefits.”

“My Man.” Jon smacked him on the back again, and he contemplated beating his sheenrat head in until it evaporated.

Guess the job’s mine.

Scene Four

Henry was looking down at the puddles of chemical runoff, his own small, and pale face reflecting back. The chill in the air stung his lungs, his breath coming out with a wheeze as his eyes locked onto the a pair of feet just poking out from behind the alley dumpster. A man with a face he knew, yet didn’t, stood over the owner of the feet, shaking his head and muttering words Henry couldn’t hear, stepping away without a care.

Henry moved closer and closer, swallowing hard. He’d seen this before, he knew what he would find, yet he couldn’t turn away. He could never turn away.

Laughter drifted from the street, the sounds of life going on as if nothing in the world had changed. A man with graying dark curls, narrow cheeks, and a colorless face— his head propped up against the rusted panel of the building. His mouth hung agape, foam bubbling pink from his mouth, eyes rolled back white.

His breathing picked up, quick and shallow, his chest sinking as he stared. “Dad?” he whined.

The body jerked, the eyes snapping to him. “Henry.”

He lurched upwards, ripping the sheets off of his body, a cold sweat collecting on his skin as his lungs fought for air.

A soft hand touched him gently. “Henry?”

There was always a moment of confusion after such dreams— gone was the alley way, the laughing Abedims, the living dead relatives— in its place the matte white walls, and charcoal carpet. Sleek leather furniture, and cotton sheets. Twenty degrees Celsius lit the wall in softly glowing numerals.

“Another bad dream, my Love?” Chloe’s hand found his, and he resisted the urge to pull away as his heart slowly receded from his throat. He squeezed back, swallowing hard as he looked over at her in the near darkness. She snapped her fingers, and the opaque black windows shifted warmly until finally revealing the city— the upper spires just catching the sunrise as the lower levels remained cast in darkness.

Chloe’s dark hair was frizzy, sticking out in various directions. Her sharp cheekbones and prominent nose made her striking, and the burning light within the room kissed her smooth, bare skin.

He moved to her abruptly, kissing her harshly on the lips. His eyes closed as he sought to bury the memories, the feelings that sought escape. She pulled back with a giggle, but he ignored her attempts, pressing only harder.

“Good morning, Madam Kendall,” came a crackled voice through the intercom. Henry pulled back, shooting her a look of disappointment as she scrunched her nose.

“Good morning, Edison,” she replied. “What has you up so early, might I ask?”

The Kendall Servant’s old and weathered voice was as even, and unamused as ever as he answered, “I was just informed by your father that Mr. Marsh’s attendance has been requested.”

Chloe rolled her eyes and Henry feigned the same annoyance, stepping out of bed and stretching before her appreciative view.

“And where might I be meeting Mr. Kendall this morning, Edison?”

“In his study, Mr. Marsh. Haste would be appreciated.”

Henry huffed before heading into the closest, the doors sliding apart and revealing more clothes than most could ever dream of. Chloe Kendall had an entire wardrobe for the two of them. He couldn’t remember the last time he was allowed to dress himself in her presence. It was only in his own apartment, which he owned with great disapproval from her, that he still had some ownership over what cloth draped his body.

He went for the suit she loved, grinning at her sorrowful quips as he covered his body. With a quick look in the mirror, he brought order to the chaos of his curled hair and left the bedroom, the sound of Chloe stepping into the shower leaving him yearning to turn back.

His nose twitched, the smell of jasmine growing stronger as he approached the office of Conrad Kendall. The mahogany doors parted at the center, disappearing into the wall and revealing Conrad as the centerpiece of the room, seated straight-backed and expectant behind his desk. His beard was long and tied off with beads that represented his years of service to the Elohim. It was a status symbols— a sign to any human that he was not just any Abedim, but one of long-standing and lasting loyalty. Trusted with knowledge most humans would be killed for even dreaming of.

The most shameful traitors of us all.

The office had black walls, the desk cut from stone and hovering above the swirling marbled floor. The windows were dimmed, but he could he see the sun-burned sky and occasional passing of Aircabs just beyond.

“Henry,” Conrad opened. He always had the faintest of smirks on his face, strong enough to make you feel antagonized, yet so slight as to leave you wondering if you were imagining it. “It’s come to my attention that your interview with Jon Baron went well.”

Henry stepped forward, reluctantly taking the open chair in front of the desk, yet still maintaining an outward indifference toward the man he despised so greatly. “Very. We talked for hours— So late the bartender kicked us out.”

He chuckled lightly, none of the humor reaching his dark eyes. “I remember being young. Unfortunately, such late nights are behind me.” He slid a glass across the desktop, reaching into a drawer and withdrawing a glass bottle.

Henry’s eyes went wide as they locked onto the wine. It was old, green and with a faded label. It hadn’t been opened yet, and the dark liquid inside had his mouth watering. He hadn’t had alcohol in so long…

The smirk on Conrad’s face seemed more pronounced. “My standing grants me privileges, as you know. I have been saving this for a special occasion.” He inclined his head towards the glass. “You haven’t asked for my daughter’s hand in marriage yet.”

His tone was accusatory, and Henry almost forgot how to speak as his gaze broke from the bottle. He fought off the urge to clear his throat as he responded, “I wanted to make sure our future was secure. She deserves an employed man, Sir.”

A slight sound of amusement left Conrad’s throat as he returned the bottle to the drawer. Henry suppressed inward cries as it disappeared from his sight.

What I would give to drown my pain for a night.

“Of course. That’s what I like about you, Henry. You’re a loyal, honorable Abedim. Respectable, despite your unfortunate beginnings.” His head turned slightly, and Henry suppressed the feeling of derision as Conrad studied him like an insect. “Get secure, and make your proposal. Next week, I will be hosting an event with the most powerful Abedim in Manhattan. I expect to break the good news to the people there, among other news that might include you should Jon Baron bring good feedback.”

“Certainly, Sir. Marrying into your family would be an honor. I will take Chloe somewhere special at the week’s end.”

Great. A wife. As if he didn’t have enough people breathing down his neck.

“Good. Check in with Mrs. Kendall, please. She would be heartbroken if she were left out of the matter.”

He hid his displeasure, nodding and eager to be free of the meeting. He could feel the ping of his implant. The Link number that displayed at the top of his vision was one he rarely saw, and he fought the tension that rose within his body.

“— This matter is very important. Continue to impress me, and I will introduce you to Divine Overseer-Vitnim.”

Henry straightened in his chair, just barely catching the end of Conrad’s words. “Yes, Sir. You will be, Sir.” He hated how pathetic he sounded, but the name was ringing in his ears. Divine Overseer-Vitnim. A Middle-Caste Administrator for the Elohim, and the alien Conrad Kendall’s family had been serving for years.

A smile grew on his face, and he just barely bit off a smirk of his own as their gazes met. A marriage in exchange for the access he had been working for his entire adult life— and the timing couldn’t be more perfect: Jack Cable was calling, and Henry was going to deliver.