Gardens of Destruction

In the bunker, the past few days had been a cauldron of tense routine. Patterson still puzzled over the circumstances that led to the abandonment of this facility. Amidst the clutter clearing and the daily grind, they followed a plan for external operations - scouting for potential new inhabitants. The discovery of helicopters had simplified their task significantly. Despite Patterson’s rusty piloting skills, he managed admirably, enabling them to reach remote locations without drawing too much alien attention or compromising the base’s secret location. The flying creatures, it seemed, lingered near the asteroid, rarely venturing far.

Their community had grown to about fifty individuals, most fitting the criteria they sought. Some brought families; others were solitary souls. Finding people was easy; the challenge lay in finding the right people. Despite his reservations about the selection process, the Professor shied away from its execution, buried in research on the mini-nuclear reactor, convinced he was on the brink of safely initiating its protocols.

Patterson, when not on missions, would sit by the radio, attempting to connect with the outside world and keep abreast of the news. The situation was stagnant, neither better nor worse. It appeared the invaders were content with random raids, primarily in major cities. After annihilating military bases deemed threats, their targeted attacks ceased. The Professor’s theory seemed plausible; the aliens couldn’t possibly assimilate everyone... their true objectives remained a mystery. Human panic and despair, it turned out, were more formidable foes than the invaders themselves.

Efforts to seek military aid from other nations, presenting himself as a high-ranking US general, were met with bureaucratic redirection. Each country was ensnared in its own crisis, focused on the newly arrived alien ships. Patterson braced for the unfolding of the Gardens, his warnings falling on deaf ears amid global panic and apathy.

Exiting the command center after another fruitless attempt at outreach, Patterson nearly collided with Andrey, the towering Russian.

“Where are you off to, Andrey?”

“I was coming to see you, General.”

“Here I am. What’s the matter?”

“Bernstein sent me. He says he’s ready to start the reactor!”

“Thank heavens! I was beginning to think I’d have to do it myself. What’s taken him so long, I’ll never understand. It’s just pushing a couple of buttons, for crying out loud!” Patterson vented, his frustration compounded by the news and the Professor’s cautiousness.

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Andrey defended. “He doesn’t want to blow us all to smithereens. He explained that he needed to understand the reactor’s workings to be prepared for any mishaps.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that excuse a dozen times. But he could have learned on the job. Our numbers in the base are growing, and the turbines just aren’t cutting it anymore.”

“Well, your troubles are nearly over,” Andrey said with a slight smirk, unfazed by Patterson’s impatience.

“Let’s go then,” the General gestured dismissively.

Navigating the base’s maze-like corridors, they quickly reached the reactor room, where the Professor and a newly appointed assistant busied themselves with the control panel.

“Bernstein, you’ve finally mustered the courage!” Patterson couldn’t help but lace his words with sarcasm.

“Patterson, now is not the time for your so-called charm,” the Professor chided.

“Truce!” Patterson managed a strained smile.

“Indeed. It’s pointless to explain my reasons for waiting if you haven’t grasped them by now,” the Professor retorted.

“Enough talk!” Andrey interjected pragmatically. “Let’s avoid unnecessary disputes and do what needs to be done.”

“Right he is,” Patterson nodded, ready to put an end to the bickering and bring the reactor online.

Without further ado, the Professor inserted the key, flipped open the control panel’s cover, and pressed the large switch. Initially, nothing happened except for a dance of lights and sensors across the panel, seemingly at random. Yet, Bernstein, who had mastered their meanings, watched a particular few with intense focus. Gradually, a soft, humming sound began to fill the room, growing steadily in volume. Turning to his audience with a sense of gravitas, the Professor announced, “It’s operational.”

“Is that it?” Patterson looked on in bewilderment.

“What were you expecting, Patterson? Fireworks and a fanfare?” the Professor retorted.

“Well, not exactly... I just didn’t anticipate... well, I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“It’s functioning flawlessly. We’ll need to give it a day to reach full power, but I assure you, the electricity it will generate should suffice for a century.”

“That’s good enough for me. Time for us to get back to training,” Andrey muttered under his breath.

“How’s the training going, Andrey?” Patterson inquired, genuinely interested.

The lieutenant had taken it upon himself to train a few of the base’s new soldiers in melee combat. He believed equipping them with alien swords similar to his own would make them more effective against the invaders, given the limited success of firearms.

“It’s a dire situation, General!” Andrey lamented. “Modern soldiers are too reliant on firearms. Only a few can handle other weapons effectively. We need to revert to the old ways, where everyone wielded a sword. Additionally, I think projectile weapons like bows and crossbows, especially if tipped with their metal, could prove invaluable.”

“You’re dreaming, Lieutenant,” Patterson said with a chuckle, trying to appear jovial, though his eyes betrayed a belief in the soldier’s words. “I can already picture an army equipped with ‘new’ medieval arms.”

Their discussion was interrupted by one of the base’s newcomers, who seemed anxious.

“Sir, you need to see this... it’s quite peculiar,” he said, his tone indicating urgency.

Patterson and Andrey exchanged a worried glance, sensing the gravity in the soldier’s voice. Without further questions, they hurried to the command center. Upon arrival, the vast room, with its operational monitors amidst a sea of defunct computers, painted a chilling picture of impending doom.

“What’s the situation, Private?” Patterson demanded, urgency in his voice.

“Sir, we’ve been monitoring the... the space vessel with one of the satellites, right?”

Patterson had forbidden referring to it as an asteroid.

“Yes, go on.”

“I decided to expand the surveillance perimeter, and look what I found.”

The soldier’s explanation was unnecessary. The images spoke volumes. Slightly away from the ship, an enormous expanse near the colossal structure teemed with countless tiny figures, filling the void.

“What in the world is that?” Patterson exclaimed, unable to hide his shock.

“Sir, here’s the zoom-in on a random group.”

The images, now clear and detailed, unmistakably showed the small dots as beings, transformed humans, and animals gathered en masse.

The General looked expectantly at the lieutenant, who ventured a bold guess, “It appears we’re witnessing an army, Sir! They seem to be waiting for something.”

“I dreaded saying it aloud,” Patterson sighed heavily. “I haven’t seen such numbers since the grand confrontation at the space vessel.”

“What could they possibly be plotting? And why aren’t they stationed right by the ship? Are they moving somewhere?” pondered Andrey aloud.

Patterson began pacing, the weight of the situation bearing down on him. At that moment, the Professor burst in, and the situation was swiftly explained to him. “Something’s amiss here!” he concluded, stating the obvious.

“That’s precisely what we’ve been pondering,” Patterson replied dryly.

“Well, there must be a solution!” Bernstein fumed, frustrated by his own helplessness.

After a brief silence, a thought struck him. “Do we have recordings from earlier?”

“Yes, Professor,” the soldier responded, queuing up the footage.

The system was set to capture the scene below every ten minutes, allowing them to track developments over time. “Look, most don’t originate from the vessel itself, which is intriguing,” exclaimed the Professor.

“It’s as if they’re gathering for something significant,” he ventured boldly.

“Professor, don’t let your imagination run wild,” Patterson scolded, his brows furrowed.

“General, I can’t fathom what they’re preparing for. It’s either an assault on the cities or an attack on the vessel itself.”

“Andrey, what’s your take?”

“The Professor might be onto something, General. I too am leaning towards some form of confrontation.”

“So you’re entertaining the idea of a rebellion?” Patterson bit his lip anxiously.

“I don’t know what I support. None of this makes sense; we just have to wait and see.”

Just then, a new image flashed on the screen. There was movement below. It seemed the gathered transformed were heading in a certain direction.

“Are they moving towards the vessel?” the Professor speculated.

“Let’s wait for the next image.”

Unfortunately, they lacked access to the newer satellites. The abandoned base only connected to an older generation, which, while sufficient for detailed stills, struggled with video feeds. The waiting periods between images did nothing to ease the tension, leaving everyone as jittery as overcaffeinated teenagers in the rare moments they spoke.

The images clearly showed a wedge formation gradually pointing towards the vessel.

“What in the world is happening down there?” the Professor fretted, his hands entangled in his hair in bewilderment.

“Sit down, Bernstein. Don’t pace before me!” Patterson barked, equally agitated.

As time ticked by, a new image emerged, now clearly showing the massive throng of transformed beings, having moved into the open space before the vessel, forming a wedge.

“Sir, there are two beings at the front!” the soldier interjected. “Shall we zoom in on them?”

“Yes, do it!” Patterson commanded, eager to see who led this... army.

Tapping away at the keyboard, the soldier gradually brought the two figures into focus. Everyone held their breath as if breathing might somehow interfere with the computer’s operation. Data from the satellite began to trickle in, and the image crystallized on the screen. The room froze, collectively digesting the sight before them. The Professor voiced what all recognized:

“Good heavens, what exactly is happening down there? Aren’t those Captain Davidson and little Valentina?”