Hostile Genus: An Epic Military Sci-Fi Series (Invasive Species Book 2)

by that, he informed them.
“Despite their unthinkable victory over our glorious Chairman, the sorceress and her inner circle of rebels are nothing more than idealists. They aren’t actually seeking the power they just took. They truly believe that they are the heroes of this story, and likewise, believe that what they are doing is just; that Invasives are deserving of equal rights and the same protections as humans. They are all, to a one, idealistic fools, like the singing strumpet they follow, putting lofty principles before proven practicalities. I have ways to manipulate them into making an even bigger mess than the one they’ve already created.”
Martin was flabbergasted. His mind strained, trying to understand such naive stupidity.
“We will use this to our advantage and tear them down without having to fire a single bullet. We will grease the wheels, so to speak, and the revolutionary vehicle in which they are riding will accelerate out of their control. They will crash and burn. And when they do, we will step back into the picture to finish them off and take back Home, saving humanity in the process.”
“I’ll play. How do you plan, exactly, to do this? No more cryptic words. Speak plainly,” Martin said, genuinely intrigued.
“Ah yes. I forget that I’m talking to a grunt. A decorated grunt, but a grunt nonetheless. Allow me to elaborate.”
Martin ignored the insult and listened as the Provocateur laid out his plan in detail. It was a long con, a masterpiece of conniving manipulation that would, Martin came to see, set the stage for a swift and easy retaking of Home. He stood in silence for a moment, contemplating the plot and its potential.
 “As much as it pains me to admit this, I like it. It’s a sound plan,” Martin said.
“Well, thank you. I learned from the best.”
Martin nodded, instantly intimating the man’s meaning.
“So it’s settled then. We have a trust established?” Martin asked. His mind was beginning to fill with possibility and glory.
“We do.”
“I suppose I should count myself lucky that it is so. After all, you are a man of your word. You came alone when I did not.” Martin gestured to Private Nguyen.
“When did I say that I came alone?” The Provocateur chuckled, then snapped his fingers.
Like puppets descending onto a stage, suspended from strings above, three blurred objects lowered into the clearing from the tangle of thick tree limbs overhead.
Before Martin could identify the nature of the new arrivals, one reached down with unnaturally long arms, each ending in a six-toed claw, and snatched Nguyen off the ground, pulling him several meters into the air and holding him fast.
The electric lamp fell from the soldier’s grip and landed on its side, changing the arc of its orange glow and throwing long shadows over portions of the wooded glade.
Illuminated by the lamp, Martin beheld in shock one of the three creatures as it slipped into view.
Bead-like eyes, small and black, with eerie horizontal lines for pupils, stared back at Martin on either side of an elongated face. The thing’s features and head instantly reminded Martin of the skull of a horse, its flesh paper-thin, wrapping its elongated, bony features. Scores of needle teeth, almost as fine as hair, slowly wavered back and forth around the creature’s mouth, as if its lipless gums were lined with cilia.
The near-skeletal head was attached to a lanky body, some nightmarish cross between a hairless cat and hairless primate, currently upside down, hanging from the trees above by prehensile feet, identical to the extraordinarily long arms, all of which ended in six long claw-toes.
“What is the meaning of this?” Martin shouted, fetching his pistol from its resting place and pointing it at the Provocateur.
“I would re-holster that weapon if I were you, Major,” the Provocateur warned. “The Neal-Laen are ambush predators, preferring to attack from above. They evolved on an arboreal forest world and can be quite swift when moving through trees.”
“Not faster than a bullet, I’d wager!” Martin growled back, cocking the hammer back on his pistol to show that he meant business. Above, muffled sounds came from Private Nguyen as he squirmed in the cradling grasp of the hanging creature. A second later, the muffles and the squirming stopped. Only the soft sounds of the winter wind whistling through the trees remained. That, and the pounding of Martin’s blood in his ears.
“Squeeze the trigger, and all hope for the Republic is lost. You may or may not kill me, I can’t say. But I can guarantee it will be the last thing you ever do.”
Keeping his pistol’s glow-in-the-dark sights trained on the Provocateur, Martin shifted his eyes enough to see the two Neal-Laen that weren’t grappling with Private Nguyen move without making a sound, repositioning themselves within easy striking distance of Martin, to his back left and right respectively.
“Why?” Martin asked, shaking with a volatile mixture of rage and fear. “Why are you doing this?”
“Two reasons. One, I said I needed to test you. Two, I told you to come alone.”
A dull thump behind Martin made him jump. He spun, trying and failing to keep the Provocateur threatened with his pistol. On the ground behind him, he found the source of the sound. Nguyen’s limp body had been dropped by his captor. Even in the soft glow of the electric torch, Martin could see the kid’s face looked shriveled, aged somehow, dried up.
Slowly, with all the grace and self-mastery of a champion gymnast, the Neal-Laen that had killed the boy unfolded itself from the tree canopy, gently turning end over end, until it had grasped the lowest hanging branches with its long arms, and then touched down onto the ground with its mirror-image legs. Once on the ground, the beast came down to stand on all fours, completing its animal appearance. Martin’s eyes, wide with horror and disgust, only came to the underside of the beast’s belly. He watched, frozen, as a dinner-plate-sized starfish of sorts dislodged itself from the Neal-Laen’s neck, crawled to the