Gardens of Destruction

Lieutenant Andrey Lipov lay on his bungalow bed, much like before, yet now he found himself a prisoner of circumstances. He reveled in the rare luxury of sleeping in, not complaining, for he was grateful simply to be alive. After his audacious venture into the asteroid, survival seemed like a distant dream. Captain Davidson, though reserved, had proven to be a warrior of true mettle. Warriors, Andrey mused, weren’t meant to meet their end in solitude. Why he chose to follow Davidson remained a mystery, attributed to nothing short of sheer luck that they both survived, aided by the artifact Andrey had whimsically dubbed his “sword.”

Memories of the harrowing events flooded back. Andrey had stealthily followed the squad into the asteroid, witnessing the grotesque ballet of violence against the “others.” When the soldiers retreated, curiosity got the better of him, and he ventured onto the battlefield.

“Holy Mother, this was a massacre...” he whispered to himself, shocked by the carnage.

He had heard tales of the modified people, akin to avant-garde sculptures, but nothing prepared him for the sight of humans twisted into horror film nightmares. A chill ran down his spine as he approached one of the fallen, pondering the atrocities inflicted on the poor soul. War had hardened him to its horrors, yet nausea threatened to overwhelm him, urging a swift departure. His attention, however, was caught by peculiar devices attached to their arms, extending from the shoulder down, encasing the limb in a sinister embrace. It ended in a blade-like appendage, a makeshift weapon that beckoned to him.

Seizing the opportunity, Andrey claimed the blade from a lifeless hand, marveling at its alien design.

“This is fascinating, not exactly ergonomic, but it’ll do... doubt it’s stamped ‘Made in China,’” he chuckled softly to himself, contemplating his next meal.

“How does one wield such a thing?” he pondered, more to himself than anyone else.

Suddenly, thin filaments sprang from the corpse, lashing out. Andrey’s attempt to grasp the hilt resulted in a minor cut; clearly, it wasn’t meant to be wielded like a traditional sword. Wrapping the hilt in fabric from his backpack, he tried to tame it, only for the filaments to come alive, binding to his flesh, penetrating skin and veins. A scream escaped his lips, pain and warmth flooding his senses. The weapon seemed to become an extension of his arm, his own blood seemingly fueling its eerie glow.

“Bloodsucker,” he named it with a twisted smile, satisfied with his plunder.

He set off to find the squad, ignoring the eerie sensation of being watched, alert yet trying to blend into the chaos. The distant gunfire guided him to Davidson’s location, now entangled in a new confrontation. Hiding, Andrey watched as the creature methodically decimated the squad, leaving Davidson alone. Compelled by a warrior’s instinct and a desire to test his new weapon, Andrey intervened. Unsheathing the blade, he felt the filaments wrap around his arm again, a familiar pain merging with determination. In a moment of recklessness, he leaped onto the creature, his blade slicing through it effortlessly. The creature, taken by surprise, thrashed violently, throwing Andrey to the ground before fleeing, but note before leaving a limb on the battlefield.

His thoughts were abruptly severed when the bungalow’s door shuddered; someone was unlocking it. He wondered how much longer they intended to keep him confined. A figure entered and the door slammed shut behind them, the dimness inside obscuring more than just shadows. The person remained in the unlit part of the room, motionless. Driven by curiosity, Andrey rose to identify his visitor. Pulling back the curtains, he was utterly astounded.

“General Patterson, it’s an immense honor for you to visit me personally!” Andrey began, his voice tinged with a distinctive accent.

“Had I known, I would have tidied up a bit, not to welcome you to such a mess,” the Russian continued earnestly, his immense respect for the general undisguised.

“Worry not, Lieutenant, we’ll have ample time to straighten out the bungalow,” Patterson replied.

“I beg your pardon?” the towering soldier shook his head in confusion.

“My boy, the twists of fate are curious indeed. Moments ago, I was your jailer, and now, we stand on equal ground!”

“You jest, General! What brings you here, truly?”

“Regrettably, Lieutenant, this is the stark truth.”

“Lipov, Andrey Lipov,” he reminded helpfully.

“After so many years in the military, remembering names is a challenge,” he sighed, then continued, “Exactly, Andrey, you heard me right!” Patterson scratched his head. “From today, I too am penalized for defiance.”

“I still don’t follow, General, but never mind. Let’s have some tea, shall we? It will do you good; you look quite pale.”

As they sat at the small table, each began to share his story, reminiscing about past glories and battles fought. In no time, they behaved like old comrades, an unthinkable scenario just hours earlier.

“Didn’t I tell you the tea would do wonders!” Lipov beamed from ear to ear.

Just then, the door clicked open again, and they both jumped to their feet. Another figure was crammed into the bungalow before the door locked them back into captivity.

“What’s happening?” the general muttered before recognizing the newcomer.

“General, it’s me, Bernstein!”

Patterson moved closer to inspect his fate-sharpened companion.

“This Schwarzer has crossed all lines. At the first chance, I’ll break his neck myself!” Patterson hissed through clenched teeth.

The new arrival sat down and recounted an incident in the laboratory. As the professor spoke, a chill ran through them when he mentioned the child’s words; they exchanged significant looks.

“General, leave the neck-breaking to me; it’s a specialty of mine,” the massive Russian said with a toothy grin, cracking his knuckles as if ready to perform the act there and then.

“That won’t be necessary,” Patterson interjected. “Soon enough, that pompous fool’s behavior will isolate him completely. Once he’s despised, sabotage will follow, and he’ll realize the grave error of his arrogance and lust for power.”

“I’m worried about what they’ll do to the child. She might be our most valuable ally in unraveling this mystery outside,” the professor furrowed his brows.

“I suppose they won’t take her tonight. Maybe they’re waiting for the operation.”

“What operation?” the Russian inquired.

“You’re not entitled to know, but it hardly matters now, nor do I see how you could interfere. Besides, you’re not the enemy at this moment,” the general stated sternly.

After a brief pause, he continued, “We’ve planned a massive assault on the asteroid, presumably now led by Schwarzer. Hopefully, he won’t botch it; it took us considerable time to devise the exact steps.”

For a moment, silence enveloped them as they contemplated the impending night, yet none voiced their hopes or fears, though questions about the operation’s outcome simmered, ready to ignite at the slightest provocation.

The professor decided to shift the conversation to a topic that had long intrigued him.

“Lieutenant, I’ve been meaning to ask you to recount what happened there... on the ship.”

“Which ship...” Andrey’s words hung in the air, like a dandelion seed drifting towards the ground.

He realized then that the asteroid was indeed a spacecraft, despite their persistent refusal to call it that.

“I’ll tell you, Professor, though you likely know everything from Captain Davidson already.”

“It doesn’t matter; I’d like to hear about your... adventures, let’s call them.”

“Go on, Lipov, I’m all ears too,” the general interjected eagerly.

Andrey hesitantly began to describe his escapades. He talked about his nocturnal journey to the asteroid, the special team, and how he had followed them inside. Gradually, he gained momentum and forgot about his imperfect English pronunciation. He spared no detail, narrating confidently and captivatingly, despite his broken English. Patterson and Bernstein listened intently, intrigued by the fascinating details that Davidson had failed to convey.

“So, the tunnels in the porous surface are inhabited?” the professor asked, eyes wide with childlike wonder.

“Yes, I suspect so,” the Russian replied. “There was a moment when I was startled by a huge shadow passing by and took refuge in one of them.”

“Do you mean when you were running with the captain?”

“No, before that. I hid and ventured further in, where I encountered similar... beings that we later encountered with Davidson. My heart sank with fear, but I soon realized they posed no threat. They simply stood there, looking at me curiously. They showed no aggression and seemed to crave contact. But I fled.”

“What a pity!” the professor murmured. “I can only envy you for witnessing these wonders.”

The general laughed heartily and quipped sarcastically, “Bernstein, you’re probably the only person on Earth who would sit down to chat with the beings instead of running away in fear. You scientists are a strange breed, almost like aliens among us normal folks!”

“A calling, General, some of us have a calling!” the professor puffed up his chest.

“Just kidding, Joseph, just kidding, don’t be mad!”

“Alright, I won’t take it too personally,” the professor sulked childishly, though he caught the irony in the general’s tone.

Andrey watched the two of them, behaving like unsupervised children. He thought of his own kids back home and felt a pang of sadness; he hadn’t seen them in a long time. Brief phone calls couldn’t replace the tender hugs he used to give them. Being a soldier was a harsh profession, especially for the children who couldn’t understand its meaning, let alone why it so often took their father away.

Andrey wondered when all this would end. Things had gotten very, very complicated. For the moment, he was even ready to pray to God, just so that tonight’s operation would be successful. He was well aware that failure would not only be a disaster for the Americans but for all of humanity. How could he return home peacefully knowing that this entity remained here, unchallenged, plotting its own schemes?

“What are you daydreaming about?” the professor interrupted his thoughts.

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head. “Just thinking about some people I miss, who I should be with right now.”

“I’m sorry! Let’s pray that after tonight, we can all return home in peace, knowing we’ve fulfilled our duty,” the general said with a slightly hoarse voice, staring out the small window.

***

The Transformed felt, but they were not integrated! Pain! Fear! Hate! The Garden was still strange to them, or was it?

The Transformed knew, they heard, they felt! She was not here! They spoke, they wanted, they hoped for her. But she was not the Gardener! She had to become one, they had to teach her, but did they have to? They did not know, but they were excited, a new Art was flourished!