Hostile Genus: An Epic Military Sci-Fi Series (Invasive Species Book 2) Ben Stevens (best contemporary novels txt) 📖

“As you wish, miss.” Pedro left to retrieve Ratt and the second load of supplies being unloaded from the sled. They had departed from their impromptu transport and followed an escort up to the lavish palace that stood over the rest of the squat adobe city.

Unable to do any real intel-gathering during their brief jaunt across the city to the palace, the trio had simply done their best to take it all in without looking out of place. What little sightseeing they did manage to do had imparted on them the impression of a typical post-Storm city-state.

It had its unique cultural and geographical character—the adobe buildings, the intoxicating scents wafting from the spice market, goat meat simmering in pepper sauce, woven textiles dyed with local resources and draped over a people of dark bronze skin and black hair. Women beat rugs outside with corn brooms; children tended to livestock and other chores, while men with guns drank tequila, patrolled the streets, and eyed the newcomers with suspicion. While unique in its way, it had its similarities with all the other civilized places, Home’s Near Rough Enclaves, Maya had visited before arriving in Home, in that there was a distinct divide between the “haves” and the “have-nots.”

This fact was hard to miss. After passing an entire block of low-ceilinged, rough-hewn adobe houses with dirty, barefoot children in the streets outside, skinny mules tied up out front, mangy dogs drinking water out of mud puddles, and the smell of open sewage somewhere—blissfully out of sight—they’d come to a street cut from a different cloth altogether.

The streets were cleaner, the houses much better built—haciendas with lovely, wavy red tiles on the roofs, lush gardens in the front yard, the only smells being those of roses and gardenias. The buildings had windows with actual glass, shutters, and curtains, not just ragged shreds of old cloth. Mechanical vehicles—some with wheels, some more modern with fusion-cell hovering capabilities—were parked out in the place of horses and mules. But what was most odd about this street and the next two they would pass down before reaching the palace was the eerie silence. There were no signs of life in any of the buildings they passed. No women dumping pots off the ornate, wrought-iron-wrapped balconies; no children working or playing in the gated yards. In fact, the only human presence they saw during that three-block journey were well-armed sentries, just like those on the wall and who had escorted them, positioned on the street side of the estates’ gates and walls.

Compared to the first district that they had passed through, each house in the “haves” district was a palace. Yet compared to the actual palace in the center of the city, even the mansions had seemed like hovels.

Maya had never seen such splendor on Earth. The palace and its penthouse rivaled anything in Home, even amongst the top levels of the Ziggurat.

Now alone with Lucy, Maya took in the contents of the penthouse suite. Just past the entrance stood a short, round table upon which sat a greeting card, a glass of sparkling wine, and a plate with fresh figs and small baked goods on it. The air in the room smelled of clean linens and a light breeze blew in from the balcony, the doors to which had been left open, with only a pearl white curtain drawn across the opening, rippling slightly in the breeze.

She strolled further into the suite, admiring the pre-Storm art decorating the walls, and then she noticed the bed. Larger than any she had ever seen, it was cornered by thick, dark wooden posts that reached from floor to ceiling, each ornately carved with a Mesoamerican theme. The tops of the posts were joined by a canopy from which hung lavender-tinted draperies, partially obscuring the mattress, sheets, and pillows within. Lucy got to work unpacking the stuff they had brought, procuring her two Macuahuitls comically hidden inside a box labeled Instruments. Maya walked past the bed and brushed her fingers across the pleasant textures of the canopy before making her way outside to the balcony.

She gazed out across the city and inhaled deeply. She could almost smell it—the sense that something lay hidden here, between the cracks of the mud buildings, beneath the polished veneer of the palace in all its luxury. Something dark lay sleeping while the tired men, women, and children of New Puebla went about their lives.

Suddenly, there came a knock at the door, and then it opened.

Lucy barely had enough time to cover her war-clubs with a nearby bath towel before Pedro and Ratt entered the suite. Maya noticed with some satisfaction that Ratt had managed to tint his goggles, hiding his new mysterious and alien eyes from the New Puebloans.

“Your manservant and the rest of your luggage, Señorita Sapphire,” Pedro announced as he eyed Lucy, who stood next to the bed, stiff and awkward.

Maya returned from the balcony and smiled at Pedro.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Señor Fernando bids you rest some, for he would like to see you after sundown. You are cordially invited to dine with him and his wife. We will send for you when the time comes. For now, is there anything I can get you? Food? Drink?”

 “No, thank you, good sir. We are fine. We will rest and await the hour of repast,” Maya responded politely and then gave Lucy a slight nod. Lucy moved to the luggage and began to rummage for something.

“No tip necessary, Miss Sapphire. It is our custom here.” The sweaty man bowed, turned, and left, shutting the door behind him. The trio all silently counted to ten, then they all relaxed and huddled together to discuss what to do next.

“Okay, guys. We don’t know what’s really going on here, so stay on your guard. We will go to this dinner tonight and see what we can learn. Let’s go ahead and rest if we can,” Maya whispered to her friends.

“Totally.” Ratt seemed relieved. “I’m exhausted.”

“I will stand