Nightmares once more. Svetlana sprinted at full speed through a hellish forest, where the trees quivered and stood straight, and she could swear that they were speaking to her. She was seeing red, her vision sharper than ever as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Luckily, she was still wearing her boots, so the uneven, jagged ground gave her no pause, not that it was any comfort. The sky was not black but absent, a darkness so complete that nothing could exist beyond it.

Something was behind her, never visible but always at her heels. She could hear it swinging through the trees with all the grace of a trained dancer, each movement perfectly calculated, every noise completely intentional. Svetlana had a deep feeling that it could be silent if it wished; it was choosing to forewarn her. That was when she noticed that it had, indeed, fallen quiet.

The pain as the entity pounced on her was far too real for any dream. Svetlana fell forward, letting forth a piercing cry. The creature seized her by the neck and flipped her over immediately. In the blackness, Svetlana could not make it out, save a few details. Firstly, it was vaguely humanoid. Secondly, the eyes. They were almost human, but the gleam of insane ecstasy in them was anything but, a look that shook Svetlana to her core. As the two made eye contact, a terrible burning feeling began in Svetlana’s skull, as though the very fiber of her being was reacting adversely to this thing. Svetlana thrashed against the creature’s grip to no avail; she couldn’t even close her eyes. The pain spread to all of her body, until every nerve sang at maximum intensity.

Svetlana woke up screaming.

“Jesus Christ, what’s gotten into you? We’re trying to sleep here!” the soldier with whom Svetlana shared a bunk groaned. The rest of her barracks, or at least the lighter sleepers of the group, agreed.

“Sorry. Nightmare–” Svetlana replied curtly, only to be cut off as someone else shot up in bed, hyperventilating.

“You too?” Svetlana turned around. The radar officer looked over at her as she tried to keep her breathing in check.

“Thank God, it was just a bad dream.” the officer sighed.

“What happened?”

“There was some sort of creature chasing me through my old house, and it had me backed up into a corner, but it didn’t want to hurt me. It just… stared at me with those godforsaken eyes!”

“Weird…” Svetlana said, staring off into the distance. Perhaps it had something to do with the Germans’ resident psychic? Barring simple coincidence, it was the only reasonable explanation.

Svetlana crept back into bed and pulled the sheets over herself, but couldn’t will her eyes to close for the rest of the night.

Dawn on Omen was breathtaking. Their camp was constructed on a ridge overlooking a major river, and as the radiant blue sun rose over the horizon, the water caught the light and projected a scintillating lightshow onto the rocks at the bank. The little flying reptiles of the world took to the skies in droves, searching for insects leaving their burrows for the day. Giant, carp-like fish splashed through the river, to be speared by the more adventurous human cohorts; supposedly, their flesh was soft and possessed a flavor far sweeter than any earthbound seafood.

A recording of a bugle call rang through the camp. Dutifully, Svetlana sprang from her bed and quickly donned her uniform, slipping on her jacket and cap as she left the barracks in single-file with everyone else.

Roll call. Svetlana called the names while an attendant recorded those who responded into a tablet. A significant portion of the first hour of the day was spent tracking down that one serviceman who had a seemingly-preternatural ability to slip off-base, exchange luxury goods with nearby bases, and evade punishment for doing so. When he was finally found, he was carrying two dozen vials of Omen massage oil, a concoction harmless and invigorating to Ovinis but heavily intoxicating to humans when vaporized and inhaled. They were confiscated immediately and the carrier reprimanded, but Svetlana had a feeling they would still be found on the base’s black market in the coming days.

After the outing was done, breakfast. Today was blini, which, while made entirely from canned ingredients and thus less than optimal in taste, still reminded Svetlana of her childhood. For the beverage, one cup of coffee for every soldier, complete with a little tube containing a powerful sweetener. Once breakfast was all done, everyone proceeded to their respective duties. Svetlana didn’t know what she was to do, but a notification on her PDA quickly informed her.

++ORDER RECEIVED++

United States Army Rangers advisory unit has arrived in Fort von Richthofen, Bundeswehr. Proceed to greet them.

++END ORDER++

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“Well, shouldn’t keep them waiting.” Svetlana said to herself. After all, it made a good excuse to go see Johann.

The drive was short; only a kilometer or so of road separated the two camps. Two men accompanied Svetlana in the armored car, one driving the vehicle and a second manning the machine gun on its roof. The road was inordinately bumpy, leaving Svetlana to wonder as to the engineering prowess of the Ovinis who paved it.

The trip passed without incident, and soon the gates of Fort von Richthofen were looming ahead of them. The MRAP came to a halt just before a security checkpoint, the driver gesturing for Svetlana to disembark. Svetlana nodded, saluted, and left the vehicle, holding her ID up to the scanner of a waiting military policeman. The scanner made an affirmative beep and the MP let her pass. Svetlana switched her PDA’s translator on and proceeded into the encampment, where she spent a rather embarrassing amount of time trying to find the commanding officer’s quarter.

Eventually, however, she found it, knocking twice on the door. “Herein.” a voice said from within. Svetlana entered and quickly sized the place up. The walls were lined with photographs of the commander alongside a stately-looking woman and an angel-faced young boy. Boxes stacked near the door suggested that more were present that were not shown. Sitting behind the plastic desk was a stout, gray-haired man who seemed to have long since had his fair share of combat.

“Herr Oberst Weiss.” Svetlana saluted.

“At ease. And your name is?”

“Lieutenant-Colonel Svetlana Kuznetsova, Russian Army, sir.”

The commander seemed not to register her words, but responded anyway. “Ah, I heard you were coming. You’re here to see the Americans, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They’re currently getting acquainted with the premises. I’ll have Hauptmann Hess act as interpreter; you seem to have taken a liking to him.”

Svetlana’s heart fluttered at the news, but it was mixed with fear. She really hadn’t been very subtle about it, had she?

“T-Thank you, sir.” she stuttered out.

“You’re welcome. Dismissed.”

Svetlana saluted once more, then departed. She made a great big circle around the camp, searching for their new guests. Around three quarters of the way around, Johann caught up with her.

“You’re fast.” Johann noted, walking up beside Svetlana.

“I like to be where I want to go.” Svetlana replied.

“You’re not one for the journey, then?”

“Anyone who thinks the journey’s worth more than the destination hasn’t had to drive to identify her mother’s body.”

Johann’s eyebrows raised. “Christ almighty, that’s dark. Are you sure the destination’s really better there?”

“Ever had something really bad happen, or almost happen, to you, Johann? As you go over to confirm whether or not the worst has just occurred, there’s a hell of a lot of cognitive dissonance. One half of your mind says that it can’t have happened; the other says that it can’t not. I had to struggle with that for four hours. By the time I got to the morgue and saw her face, it was practically a relief. Granted, she had a hole in her forehead the size of a softball, so…”

Johann put a protective hand on Svetlana’s arm. “Are you okay? You feeling alright?”

Svetlana facepalmed. “I’m ranting again, aren’t I? I’m so sorry; I’m always grumpy during the morning.”

Johann slowly took his hand off of her, but was obviously not fully satisfied. Still, he didn’t press the issue further.

Finally, they found the Rangers, some fifteen men and women traveling in a small group, led by a taller blond man who looked like he could wield Svetlana as a weapon. A desert tan rifle clattered on his back. Svetlana and Johann hurried to meet them.

“Ahem.” Svetlana coughed. Their leader turned around, noticed her rank insignia, and saluted. The rest of them did the same. Then, Svetlana remembered that she didn’t know any English beyond a few short commands.

“Tell them my name and why I’m here.” she whispered to Johann. Johann nodded, then barked out a few harsh, clipped English words. Their leader said a few hushed words back. Johann seemed to realize something.

“I’ve met these people before; they carried out the raid on the Poslushi slave barge. This is Staff Sergeant Darren Hardwell.” Johann explained.

“Tell them that I thank them for their service and–”

“You’ll give us what we need to do our jobs?” Darren finished her sentence, speaking German.

“Indeed we will.” Svetlana replied after a short pause, pleasantly surprised.

“Then I think we’ll have a fruitful relationship. The name’s Staff Sergeant Hardwell, as you’ve already been made aware. My platoon and I will be coaching your respective forces, though one already knows what coaching means when it comes to special forces.’

“Just don’t steal all the glory, eh?” Svetlana joked.

“Oh, I can’t guarantee that.” Darren chuckled. They all laughed at the little retort.

“Well, I’ll give you my contact information. Don’t hesitate to use it if you need anything or my comrades give you trouble.” Svetlana held up her PDA. Darren did the same, and as they touched the two devices together, their information was nigh-instantly exchanged.

“Pleasure meeting with you.” Darren bowed. Svetlana spun on her heel and began walking back towards the entrance. She had a good feeling about these newcomers, foreign as they were. However, considering that the last time she had a good feeling about something ended with her incarceration, time alone would rule as to her hunch’s veracity.

—

Alicia Zimmermann was a misanthrope, a label which she wore like a badge of honor. After all, wasn’t it a symbol of enlightenment that she counted herself separate from the unwashed masses? She was one of some 0.13 percent of the human population with an IQ so high, which rendered her obviously exceptional. What could other people do except drag her down with their inferior ideas?

The words in the textbook before her swam in front of her eyes. Sometimes, when she needed ideas, she would plod through college history books, an elementary task that occasionally yielded inspiration from the past. Page after page after page she read, picking up ideas as she went. The Holodomor. The Potato Famine. Then, Hernan Cortes’ arrival in North America. The Great Mortality of the 1340s. As she read through these, an idea formed within her.

Alicia’s first idea when Captain Hutchins asked her for a weapon to bring widespread disruption to humanity was a neural net, some sort of AI that could autonomously crack codes and write viruses to bring the ‘Net to a standstill, which would practically cripple their screen-coddled society. However, as she presented the proposal to her, Hutchins unsubtly shot it down, declaring that such a weapon would violate the terms of the Obsolescence Convention and thus present a casus belli to any unsavory actors on the galactic stage. She also took the moment to proclaim that following the subjugation of mankind, the Internet in its entirety would be wiped and would only ever be used again for direct person-to-person communication.

But the answer was far more simple and within her wheelhouse. After all, she was a geneticist, with every hour of study that would normally constitute a PhD, save the worthless piece of paper itself. As someone who commanded the very fabric of life itself, she had two horsemen of the apocalypse, pestilence and famine, yoked to her will. The only hitch in her plan was the fact that so many of these vectors of suffering simply no longer existed, eradicated in the mass-vax campaigns of the late 21st century.

That wouldn’t matter, however. Yes, it was all coming together now. She would improve upon what nature wrought upon humanity for its insolence, and when she loosed her power upon the world, they would know what they had done wrong. They would beg Alicia for her forgiveness, her cure, and only once she was satisfied with her revenge would she give them reprieve. Then, she would take her place among those gifted with the domination of those creatures below them.

After all, with power over what made creatures what they were, what was she if not a god?