choice of handguns. The display was impressive, and he picked up a few he was unfamiliar with to test the weight and feel of them. He wanted to be armed with whatever made the most sense. And this was only the start. From everything that Val and Malcolm had said, each of them was going to be tricked out like Sigourney Weaver in Aliens, as she descended into the queen alien’s lair. The analogy fit, too, although in this version of the movie, the Queen was going to be left behind to watch movies and eat cookies, while an unruly drone was getting axed. He wasn’t sure that made all that much sense. Who was the real threat to his world—one crazy motherfucker or a young woman who had the ability to reproduce dozens of offspring?
Funny how he’d laughed at all the movies in that franchise and other sci-fi ones, sure in his belief that they were pure fantasy. While he hadn’t discounted the idea of there being other species out in the universe, it hadn’t seemed likely that they’d bother to invade little old Earth. Technically, they hadn’t. This whole nightmare was based on a fluke, one that had changed the course of his planet’s history, based on the bits and pieces he’d caught of the story. He was more than happy to put an end to it all, except that was not what would happen, even if they were victorious. His planet would still be populated by aliens, just more benevolent ones. And Annika would be free to go about her queenly duty. The men around her would have more time to father others.
The thought struck him with such a force that he stopped and gripped the side of the table. Around him, good men by all accounts were filling crates with weapons, everything from semi-automatics to smoke bombs to C-fucking-four. They acted as if this were perfectly normal, at ease with everything, because they’d been around when each of the items had been invented. They’d seen humans develop greater and more lethal ways to fight and had amassed a huge arsenal, simply due to their enormous wealth and longevity. It wouldn’t surprise him if they had nuclear capability. That meant they held the ability to destroy Earth and everyone on it. The fact that Alex hadn’t done so and had actively fought against the very havoc that Dracul had sewn didn’t mean that they never would.
It was entirely possible that one day he’d find himself on the other end of a conflict with these men. With Dracul gone, they might feel free to step into his place. They could perhaps rationalize their effort by promising to be a more benevolent form of conqueror. That little Queen of theirs in particular seemed to have hidden depths. Did her father and Alex really have any control over what she did, and if so, how long would that last? What would these ‘good’ men do if she turned out to be as power-mad as Dracul? No matter how much faith Trey had in them, Craig couldn’t shake the fear that there was an undercurrent of danger.
Time would tell if he was right, and if he was, what would he do? Could he end up on the other side of a new war between them and humans? Regardless, there were going to be those caught in the middle, like Trey and, God…Alun. If the world learned of these aliens and fought to keep control of the planet, changelings and hybrids would have one foot in each camp. They’d be forced to choose—or shit, maybe not. Humans had a history of eliminating anyone and anything that freaked them out. Alun would be in danger, no matter which side he chose. The thought of that sweet man being in such a precarious situation infuriated him, yet there was no place to spend his anger. Plus, he was making mountains out of molehills—or no hills, actually. There was nothing in the least to indicate that his fears were real.
“You okay there, Craig?”
He’d been so far up his own freaked-out ass that he’d failed to hear Trey approach. Blowing out a deep breath, he said, “Yeah, sure.” Because Trey knew him too well, he was careful not to look at him. He grabbed an M18 and stared down its sight. “Just picking my toys for the battle. Your friends have a lot of them.”
Trey leaned against the table. “You don’t know the half of it.”