Jack walked home between the quiet trees lining the street. He idly wondered, perhaps for the thousandth time, what kind of trees they were. He’d googled it before, but the different varieties all looked the same to him.

He pulled his leftovers from last night out of the fridge and stuck them in the microwave. He sat down at his ham radio while he waited. “Danny? You there, buddy?” The microwave dinged. “I’m here, if you wanna talk.” The radio remained silent. Jack sighed and got up, hoping that Danny was just out of the house for a bit.

As he ate, Jack went through his usual routine at the computer. He logged onto his online game to see if anyone else was on. As usual, it was empty. Jack shook his, wondering why he bothered. It was just him and Danny, the only ones left in the whole world. Sometimes he was glad he was still alive, but today the loneliness was stifling.

He went outside and watered the tree in his backyard. It always made him feel better, as if the tree could hug him like his mother used to.

When he went back in, the radio was squawking. Jack rushed over to it, eager to hear another person’s voice. “Danny! Danny, are you there?” Static. “Come on, Danny. Talk to me.” More static. Jack sighed, and grew annoyed with the radio. It was his dad’s old radio, and it sometimes picked up static like that. And every time he got excited for a moment, only to be let down. It looked like Danny wouldn’t be on the radio today.

Jack logged back onto the computer. He quickly stifled one of his more common wonderings: how did the electricity still work? For that matter, how did the internet? But, as always, he shut those thoughts down, deciding that they were mostly automated and didn’t really need people around to manage them. He didn’t dare think about it too much because the last time he had, he’d had a panic attack.

So, instead, he googled the symptoms of the parasite. He did it every day, waiting for the day when he would finally begin to exhibit the symptoms. He didn’t need to bother, he knew them by heart. But he did it anyway, wondering whether he’d freak out when it started. He didn’t know.

When the parasite first appeared, the conspiracy theorists had a field day. Out of nowhere, people began showing strange symptoms: itchiness, loss of appetite, muscle aches, hardening of the soft tissues, listlessness, and a weird desire to be out in the sun. By the time an afflicted person was spending his days and nights outside, he was already mostly made of wood.

And everyone had a theory about why it was happening. Some blamed aliens, others blamed secret government projects, and still others blamed global warming. The truth turned out to be far more mundane. Scientists discovered a parasite that integrated itself with DNA. After leaving a host, it carried scraps of DNA with it to the next host. No one was ever able to figure out quite how it found itself in the human population. But as soon as it did, it spread like wildfire. No containment could be found.

And now, Jack walked down the street surrounded by vaguely human-shaped trees, and watered what used to be his mother.

As he read through the list of symptoms, for the millionth time, he realized that he was scratching his face. And that he’d been scratching his arm on the way home. And his leg while he was eating.

“Danny,” Jack said into the radio. “Danny, it’s started.” Jack’s voice was remarkably calm. “I’m turning into a tree Danny.” Jack scratched his knee. “Please answer me Danny.” Jack scratched the top of his head. “Please, Danny.” But Jack heard only silence, and, as he scratched his backside, he knew that Danny was standing outside.

Alec stood on the bridge of the fleet command ship trying to look defiant, but suspected that he looked just as nervous as he felt. He couldn’t help his wandering thoughts; he wasn’t a military commander after all, he was a colony administrator who had read Sun Tzu’s The Art of War for a class in college. But he was all they had, and he refused to let them down.

“Dek, get me a fleet check,” Alec ordered. He had to stop himself from laughing out loud at the thought that their small, ragtag group of refitted cargo vessels could be considered a fleet.

After a few moments, Dek spoke. “All ships in position, and weapons prepped. Well, prepared as possible, I guess.”

“It’s a fair point, Dek.” Alec turned to see Clint, his engineer, on a view screen. “The repurposed mining lasers are powerful, but these old fusion reactors are going to have a hard time powering them and the engines at the same time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. We’ll try to sit still while we shoot.”

“Provided a plasma conduit doesn’t blow first. These cargo haulers weren’t haulers weren’t built for speed,” Clint chuckled.

“You’re a regular ray of sunshine, Clint.” Alec pressed a key, and the view screen winked off.

Dek’s instruments flashed. “We’re approaching Earth’s outer defense grid. Contact with attack drones estimated in eight minutes.”

“Alright everybody, stay calm,” Alec ordered, silently praying he’d be able to stay calm himself. “This is what we’ve practiced for. Weapons stations, power up the lasers. All scanners set for maximum gain.” Alec sighed. “Dek, open a commlink to the fleet.”

Dek pressed some keys. “You’re on, High Commander. We’re all ears.”

Alec took a deep breath. “Alright, this is it. As soon as we fire on those defensive drones, there’s no going back. Make no mistake, we’re in for a hard fight. Our ships are old cargo haulers with crude armor plates bolted to the outer hull. Our weapons are repurposed laser drills. Our enemies have us outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and outgunned. And we will not back down. The tyrants of Earth gone too far. They’ve demanded too much from us, and ignored our rights. They’ve increased our quotas while sending fewer supplies, and treated us like second class citizens. And they think that just because we were born in the asteroid mining colonies, that we won’t fight back. Today is the day we prove them wrong. And though the odds are stacked against us, we have our resolve. We stand today as one, and in righteous fury we will fight. And we will fight until we win or die. And we will do so together!”

For a moment, Alec thought that the speakers on the bridge were malfunctioning, until he realized that the static he was hearing came from hundreds of people cheering aboard the other ships. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning as Dek closed the communique; he’d practiced that speech a hundred times.

“Sir, we’ve breached the outer defensive perimeter.”

“How many drones on the scanner?” Alec asked.

There was a pregnant pause. “None.”

Alec whirled around. “None? Really?” He strode to Dek’s console and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there were no ships displayed on the scanner. “Wait, what’s that?”

“Some sort of debris field, I think,” Dek replied. He adjusted the controls. “It’s debris, all right. Metallurgy confirms that the components are consistent with unmanned drones.”

“Drones?” Alec asked. “More than one?”

“At least five. I’ve confirmed with the other ships. No contact yet, but more debris fields are scatter throughout the area.”

“Alright, signal the fleet. Let’s push forward, cautiously.” An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of Alec’s stomach. He could sense the same trepidation from his crew.

Twenty minutes later, the big blue orb that was Earth loomed on the main view screen. “Still no contact?”

“No,” Dek said. “No ships, no communications.”

“What about the satellite network? There should be several communication and defensive satellites in orbit, where are they?”

“Gone. But I’m picking up more debris fields.” A beep sounded from the console. “Wait, there’s something coming up from the planet.”

Alec turned toward the screen, and watched as an enormous ship lifted itself from Earth. “What type of ship is that? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Scanners can’t penetrate the hull, sir. There’s some sort of energy field blocking them.” The strange ship paused for a few seconds, as if considering them, before Dek continued: “Sir, my instruments have gone haywire! Gravitational readings have flown through the roof!” The ship on the screen seemed to stretch before vanishing in a flash of light. Silence enveloped the bridge for a split second before a beeping shook them back to reality.

“Dek, what’s happening?”

“Several ships have powered up their lasers. Comm traffic is a little hectic.”

“Signal all ships to stand down,” Alec said. “Have everyone calm down before someone does something we’ll all regret.” Dek tapped some commands, then nodded. The beeping stopped. “Good. Now let’s figure out what’s going on. I want a full scan of Earth. I want a population estimate, and try to find some sort of signal.”

“On it.” There was a tense moment as Dek worked. What the hell is going on down there? Alec wondered. “Sir, scans indicate about eight billion life forms.”

“Eight billion? It should be closer to eleven.”

“It doesn’t stop there. At least a quarter of the life forms aren’t human.”

A gasp worked its way through the bridge as everyone suddenly realized what had happened. Alec sat heavily in his chair. In a rush of horrible realization, he knew what had happened. “It all makes sense. The demand for more resources. The withholding of provisions. Earth wasn’t oppressing us. They were fighting a war.”

“It looks like they lost,” Dek said quietly.

Alec had hated the people of Earth all his life. But, suddenly, it didn’t matter. They were human, like him. And they need help. He stood. “Dek. Signal the other ships to form a defensive perimeter. I also want maximum scan of the surface, I need to know everything that’s going on down there. Engineering, power up the weapons. I expect we’ll have hostiles coming at us any second.”

The bridge exploded into action. Determination mixed with fear, and Alec was glad that determination was winning out. Because his rebellion had just become a rescue mission.

This Story Takes Place In The Warhammer 40k Universe

Caffus sat on blood soaked grass, surrounded by carnage. Ishta was using a pict recorder to capture images of the battle ground. Ravion was searching for the book, the foul artifact responsible for the death and depravity that had occurred that night. The book that had killed Lug. The cold purple sun had gone out with the deaths of the daemons.

While his companions worked, Caffus sat there cradling what was left of Lug. Caffus hadn’t known the man long, but he knew that Lug deserved more than he got. Lug had accepted Caffus, been a friend to him.

But Caffus mourned for more than a fallen friend. A part of him had died that night as well. Everything he thought he knew had been wrong. He thought that mankind was powerful, that men were the rulers of the galaxy, and that their enemies couldn’t stand before them. But after tonight, he seriously doubted those views.

Ravion sighed as he sat down next to Caffus. “Found the book.” He held up a small package wrapped in leather.

“What’s going to happen to it?”

“We’re going to destroy it. We’re going to make sure its evil never influences anyone, ever again.” Caffus nodded. They sat in silence a moment, watching Ishta finish her work. “I remember my first mission,” Ravion said. “A group of daemon worshippers was trying to open a warp portal and cause a warp incursion. If they’d succeeded, the entire planet would’ve been overrun by those things. By beings so powerful, the things we fought tonight would look like sickly dogs in comparison.

Caffus stared at the stars. He’d never seen anything like them before. Countless stars, and most of the had billions of humans living near them. And they were all in danger of falling prey to the carnage he’d seen tonight. He asked Ravion the question that had been bothering him since he first laid eyes on the debauchery he’d witnessed. “How could they do that? How could they summon those… things? On purpose?”

“They fell astray,” Ravion replied. “They succumbed to temptation. They weren’t strong enough to resist.” After a pause, he continued. “That’s why we do what we do. Because someone has to resist. Someone has to be strong. Someone has to stem the tide.”

Caffus sighed, and stood. “I guess that’s us.” Ravion smiled.

This Story Takes Place In The Warhammer 40k Universe

Caffus picked himself up, despite his ringing ears and aching muscles. As loud as the area had been, it was now completely silent. All around him people were picking themselves up. Lug reached down to help him, but they paused when they noticed the lighting had changed. The bonfire had gone out, and been replaced by a sphere of light floating high in the sky. It was like a tiny purplish sun, pulsing with cold light. Where the fire had been, three figures stood watching Caffus’ group.

For an instant Caffus thought he was looking at three beautiful women, but as the light from the sphere grew they resolved into something else. Each… creature stood a full foot taller than Lug, with vaguely female forms but these had clearly never been human. Their heads sported horns, their arms ended in oversized crab claws, and they moved with a grace and purpose that any dancer would envy.

They surged toward Caffus, and he couldn’t tell whether it was lust or murder behind the creatures’ eyes. The most intense fear Caffus had ever felt washed over him, and he knew that he would die. These misshapen, yet somehow beautiful, creatures would destroy him. They would rape him over and over until he begged for death, then torture him a thousand different ways. And they would laugh the entire time. Caffus was going die, horribly.

Lug stumbled toward the creatures, desire for those profane forms overriding his good sense. “Lug!” Caffus call didn’t stir the big man. “Lug, stop!” One of the creatures reached for the big man with its razor-sharp claw. Caffus reacted, and put a bullet through each of the creature’s eyes. Caffus ran for Lug, to pull him back to reality. He could hear Ravion and Ishta fighting, but he was focused on Lug. He didn’t see another of the creatures coming for them. It came from nowhere, hissing and spitting, and with a flick of its wrist Lug was gone, replaced by red mist.

This Story Takes Place In The Warhammer 40k Universe

Caffus’ group rounded the corner and stopped dead in their tracks. At the center of what had once been a courtyard, an enormous bonfire flared bright with flames so red they seemed to bleed into purple. Around it was a ring of men and women chanting strange words that carried insanity with them. They weren’t robed and hooded, but stark naked. Around the ring were dozens of other people, all engaging in horrible activities.

Some were performing hedonistic acts so depraved that no human mind could have possibly conceived them, and Caffus couldn’t decide whether he should be excited or disgusted by the twisting, writhing, and moaning.

Others were engaged in all manner of sadistic torture. Blood poured from a hundred small cuts, flowing over bruises and broken bones. Caffus knew, inexplicably, that those being tormented had volunteered for the treatment.

The coppery smell of blood wafted through the air, mingling with the smells of alcohol, obscura, and bodily fluids. It was utterly disgusting, and through it all the horrible chanting grew louder and caused blood to leak slowly from Caffus’ ears. The whole scene was wrong.

For a brief and horrifying moment, Caffus felt something inside him break. Ravion cuffed him on the back of the head, and brought him back to himself. Caffus knew that there was only one thing to do. He surged forward, his pistols spitting death in all directions. Ishta’s blades carved through limbs and necks with deadly efficiency. Lug’s heavy weapon spewed fire in short controlled bursts, each deadly. Ravion levelled a precision rifle at one of the chanters, but before he could pull the trigger a shockwave emanated from the bonfire, knocking over everyone still standing.

This Story Takes Place In The Warhammer 40k Universe

Caffus took in the ruins at the top of the hill. The ancient stones had been crumbling for centuries, and whatever carving or ornamentation they may have had were long erased by the elements. At first Caffus couldn’t figure out why Ishta had drawn her swords, but as they drew closer to the moss covered ruins he heard it.

A low chanting was drifting toward them from the far side of the ruin. Caffus couldn’t understand what was being said, but his companions looked grim. The drew, as stealthily as they could, around the ruin.

“There’s our entrance,” Ravion said, indicating a large hole in the ground at the base of the ruin.

“Looks like someone beat us here,” Lug pointed out. All the joviality had left his attitude.

“Any chance they didn’t find the book?” Ravion’s question was directed at Ishta. The little woman shook her head, her hard face a grim mask. Ravion swore. “What are the odds that chanting isn’t related to the book?” Everbody knew that the odds were slim, but no one wanted to say it.

They moved around the side of the ruin. An orange flickering light grew in intensity, providing light to the now dark world and casting dancing shadows all around them. Caffus could see impossible shapes in the shadows, things that shouldn’t, couldn’t, have been there. Once he nearly pulled the trigger on a bush.

As they drew near the chanting grew in volume, and with it a strange sensation in Caffus’ skull. It was as though the words were living things, burrowing deep into his head and dancing about. They were words no human was meant to speak, they were all certain of that. The little group rounded the ruins.

This Story Takes Place In The Warhammer 40k Universe

A deep chuckle sounded behind Caffus. He turned and saw Lug watching him, amusement dancing behind his dark eyes. “Feeling a bit uneasy, Caff?” Lug was, in a very literal sense, an enormous contradiction. He stood at least four inches taller than the others, and his muscled frame was so wide he had to turn sideways to fit through the average door. He carried the biggest machine gun Caffus had ever seen with ease. Yet he seemed to be the most jovial of Caffus’ new companions.

“Just feeling a little… exposed.” The others chuckled, even Ishta. The diminutive woman hadn’t made a sound since Caffus had met her; she hadn’t spoken a single word in the five months since he’d met her, not so much as a cough. Far more disturbing, Caffus hadn’t heard a single footfall or rustle of clothing. Tonight, she wore a tightly fitting, matte black body glove and he had a hard time keeping track of her in the rapidly darkening evening. For the first time, Ishta seemed like a true human.

“I remember my first time offworld,” said the usually stoic Ravion. “I come from a desert planet and the plant-life of Fedrid gave me a rash so bad, I sprained my wrist trying to scratch under my armor.”

A quiet hiss from Caffus left made him jump, and pure reflex brought his autopistol out of its holster in a flash of cold steel. He quickly turned it away, however, when he saw that it was pointed to Ishta. The small woman had a curved short sword in each hand, both sharp as sin, and Caffus had no idea she’d even been carrying them. She gestured up the rise toward their destination.

This Story Takes Place In The Warhammer 40k Universe

As the sky darkened, fingers of pink and orange stretched up from where the sun was setting. The gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of fruit from the orchards to the south. The grass was thick and soft, and wildflowers provided spots of color here and there. Caffus hated it.

The entire planet was beautiful, and cloying, and nothing at all like home. Caffus’ nose and throat were itching without any smoke or oil in the air, and he felt chilly despite the warm evening. Worst of all was the horrible openness of it all. Back home, in Gunmetal City, Caffus had never seen the sky and never been outside of the cavernous steel walls that made up the enormous hive.

Caffus’ only comforts on this saints forsaken world were his guns. Their familiar weight was the only thing that kept him from falling up into that big open sky. Those six pistols were his pride and joy, and he’d built his life and reputation around them. He had purchased or scavenged each one and lovingly cleaned and restored them until they were fit for fighting, dueling, and killing. He knew each one, it’s strengths, weaknesses, and which situations they were best for. They were Caffus’ only friends, and the only ones he trusted completely. And a strange sensation in his gut told him that he’d need them tonight.

I sat at a corner table sipping club soda and scanning the hotel bar. I could see everything, but I couldn't see anyone who appeared to be waiting for me. The little golden ball was an unfamiliar weight in my pocket, but I didn't dare keep it out in the open for fear that it was meant to mark me as a target for someone.

I glanced at my watch. 11:45. If I didn't see anyone soon, I'd be forced to show the ball to the concierge at the desk just outside the bar. I was afraid it was some sort of trap; one doesn't do well in my like of work without a healthy amount of paranoia. But my curiosity was getting the better of me. Someone had gone to great expense, drugging me, setting me up in a deluxe suite at an opulent hotel, and even purchasing a perfectly tailored Italian suit. It wasn't really my style, but the cryptic not had said to wear it. When in Rome, I guess.

At 11:50 I presented the little ball to the concierge. He waved over a bellboy and instructed him to guide me to Conference Room A.

After a short trip down a side corridor, the bellboy opened a door and gestured me inside. The conference room was every bit as elegant and well appointed as the rest of the hotel. It had to cost a fortune.

Seated at the head of the long conference table was a well dressed man. My trained mind sized him up instantly: mid 40's, probably between 5'10" and 6'0" when standing, about 220 pounds, but fit. The suit obviously came from the same tailor, so either he had purchased them both or he was in the same boat I was. The latter was doubtful, as he had a confident air about him and gave off the vibe that he was in control. There were no bulges in his jacket where a shoulder holster might be, and from his posture I doubted he had a waistband holster.

"Please have a seat," he said amiably. The was something familiar about him that I just couldn't place. "Glass of wine?" He began pouring before I answered, from a very expensive bottle.

"Why am I here?" I asked as I took a seat.

"Just as I expected. The first to arrive, and already asking questions. Out of curiosity, why don't you ask my name?"

"You won't give it until you decide to, there's no point in asking."

"And how do you know that?"

"Your whole act is geared toward anonymity," I replied. "Strange hotel, note with no names, unique marker presented to the concierge. No, you aren't going to tell me who you are until you're good and ready."

Just then the door opened and Donovan Brigg stepped in. He called himself a retrieval specialist, but really he was just a punch-up artist. One of the best in the business, but still.

"Donovan," he said when he saw me. "Haven't seen you since we ran into each other in Belgium."

"The stolen Degas. I remember."

"Of course you do, you stole it."

"Now, gentlemen, let's put our past differences aside. We're going to work together on this one," said the man pouring the wine.

The door opened again to admit someone I didn't know. My brain kicked in: Five foot seven, 130 pounds, doesn't go outside much, slouch indicates someone who spends a lot of time sitting at a desk, thick glasses. Judging by the fact that our mysterious host had gathered a thief and a hitter, it made sense that this guy would be a hacker. And that's when it hit me.

"Henric Jameson," I said as I turned to the man still seated at the conference table.

"A hat tip to you, my friend. Now, if we can all have a seat, I'll tell you about our heist."

I didn't normally work with a crew, but I was willing to make an exception. Because Henric Jameson was the best Mastermind in the business.