Viper King 1

Chapter 1

Another dawn with the light of the sun filtering down into the cave. No warmth comes with it. I hold in my hands a steaming cup of coffee, the warmth fighting for dominance of my fingers against the New Arctic cold. The scent of the roasted beans and hit water trails up to my nose, and with the first sip trailing warmth down to my core it dispels the weariness in my heart and the cold in my bones. Its blessings welcome, the taste does nothing for my senses, mouth curling in disgust. Black as battery acid. No sugar or cream up here.
Before the invasion this was the ass end of Russia. The kind of place no sane soul wishes to go that was not already born of its bitter chill. Then again, I may be hard pressed to classify my boss among those sane souls. Common sensibilities are the price paid for genius, the price of that power to peer into Mother Nature’s hiding places.
Another draft from the warm mug between my naked fingers grants the inertia to pull myself from the cold stone upon which I had sit to watch the sunrise. I turn from the morning light, and what greets me is cold metal stretched across more cold stone. The thump of my heavy boots accompanies me to the keypad. Four familiar electronic chirps sing from the machine, and the gate unlocks with a hydraulic hiss.
“Guten Morgen, Mister Cole,” the clinical tones of Dr. Vahlen greet me as I enter. Clipboard in hand, pen moving like lightning, she scrawls looping ciphered text. “Are you ready for Subject Gamma’s lessons today?”
Surrounding us, other lab assistants and technicians move to and fro. Our team is small. It needs to be. Supply is scarce out here when we need to hide not only from ADVENT, but from the resistance. If they knew what we were doing here they would raid us and burn our lab to the ground, one as surely as the other.
“Caffeinated and ready, Doctor.”
“Excellent,” she turns to me and looks me up and down. A dry, expectant smile of approval finds her eyes. “And already dressed for the job. You continue to impress.”
Doctor Vahlen is not the same woman I worked with in the invasion. Her hair is marred with grey, and a streak of white that she tucks behind her ear. When her eyes began to go, she was not shy about using gene therapy rather than deign to wear glasses like a normal person. It’s a shame, she could have pulled off the sexy librarian look. For the people who are into that sort of thing. Instead she only fed into the rumors among the lab techs that she is secretly a reptilian.

Into the enclosure I descend, colleagues watching from above behind a pane of mindshield glass. Behind my I drag the carcass of a wild boar, freshly caught by our hunters. Gamma is easier to work with when fed. Nutrient slop from the tanks does little for the appetite. From the opposite end of the enclosure emerges Vahlen’s pet project. Low to the ground, he slides over the rocks to meet me in the middle. A plastic table has been unfolded, a centerpiece to the observation enclosure, and beside it a plastic chair for me.
Heaving, I hurl the gift of swine in his direction. A flash of white lightning shoots from the floor and snatches the boar from the air, driving it into the ground. Black eyes, amber reptilian slits at the center, look up at me. Slowly they widen from their narrow, almost imperceptible predatory line, into a smoother and rounder expression of recognition.
I try not to pay attention when he eats. Instead, I take my seat at the table and wait, hands folded in front of me, fingers now protected by warm winter gear. “How are you feeling today, Gamma?”
“I want to go outside.” The pronunciation of his English is smooth and natural. I try not to brag, but I like to think part of that is my skill as a teacher. A high school chemistry teacher before the invasion, a lab assistant for XCOM during the invasion, now a private tutor for an alien. My life has come full circle.
Gamma’s full form slides into view. Snow white scales, glowing under the artificial light. Patterns of blue and black decorate his back. The black horns along the edges of his hood and waist are not present on the female viper cadavers that Vahlen ‘acquired’. There is no apparent practical use. Evidence of sexual dimorphism in the species before the Elders dug into them. That means they have a homeworld somewhere, just like us.
No garb clothes his naked form, the sleek tone of the muscles in his chest bare for all to see. Modesty is not a concern with his equipment packed away, and the cold never bothered him anyway.
“You know I’m not allowed to take you outside, Gamma. Have you finished reading the book I gave you?”
The first male specimen of his kind, that we know of, to set coil on the Earth. Gamma’s long body winds beneath him from his standing position on the opposite side of our table. Poised like a spring. In front of him, hands with four digits each are wrapped around the cover of the book. Of Mice and Men. Gamma’s head curls down to regard his possession, which he sets upon the table with reluctance. “I have.”
“What did you think of the story?”
His eyes watch me, watch my face. For any hint of a tell, of what I want to hear. Subject Gamma is clever. The cleverest of the three by far. “Am I meant to be Lennie?” I cannot help but laugh at the idea, an expression that Gamma recognizes from our past interactions. His hood flares out, and his tone of voice is insulted. “What is so funny?”
“You’re not Lennie, Gamma. You’re too smart for that. Sometimes a book is just a book.”
My compliment brings him back down, his posture relaxes but does not sink. He makes certain that he is always the tallest in the room. I know Gamma. His growth and development were accelerated when Vahlen thawed him out, but in all that time I have been his mentor. Gamma has an ego, and he loves to have it stroked.
“I liked George, until the end,” at last he opens up honestly.
“Then do you think George made the wrong decision? What would you have done instead?”
“Lennie trusted him, and he killed Lennie. He should have taken the gun, and destroyed the enemies that were coming for Lennie.”
I can see in Gamma’s body language that the betrayal is bothering him. The tensing muscles in his hands, the drooping edges of his mouth as his long pink tongue flicks in and out. Expressions he learned from watching me. Taking a chance, I reach out and set my right hand on his arm. Even through the glove I can feel how cold he is. It happens whenever he gets upset or feels threatened, as part of a defense mechanism. I know of nothing like it in nature. Could it be the Elder’s tampering, or are there even stranger natural abilities among aliens we humans have yet to meet?
“They would be murderers, and both of them would be on the run.”
“They would still be together,” Gamma insists, stubborn and uncompromising on that. I can see quickly that trying to reason with him now is going to go nowhere.
“Why don’t we move on to mathematics?” I offer, to Gamma’s immediate agreement. A short, sharp dip of his head. I can feel the cold beneath my hand fade to warmth, from his calming emotions and the heat sapped from my touch. Our lesson resumes where I left off last time, teaching the process of division. When the emotional element is taken out, Gamma excels. He learns at a rate surpassing human students. Is it a natural Viper trait, or a result of Vahlen’s modifications, I wonder?
But to my regret, our time together must come to an end. “I think that about wraps up today’s lesson. It’s time for your daily physical, Gamma. And time for my lunch.” The edges of his reptilian irises draw closer, narrower. Gamma looks away from me indignantly.
“I know you don’t like it, Prince.” I stand and walk around the table to take him by the arm, whispering to him too quietly for the observers to hear. Vahlen disapproves of nicknaming the subjects, of getting too attached to them. “How about this, I promise to be there the entire time. No lunch until I know you’re alright.”
A deep sigh from down in his body releases a cloud of misty breath, causing frost to spider across the surface of the table in front of him. “You will be there the entire time, Teacher?”
“Nothing would stop me.” Gently, I pull on his arm.
He indignantly pulls his arm away. “I am not a child. I can go on my own.” Down to the floor his upper body dips, hovering just above the stone as he glides away faster than I can keep up with.
I follow him, hand in my pocket as he comes to a stop and waits for me near a tall rock pillar. When I stand next to him out of view of the observation deck, I slip a small chocolate covered cherry out of my pocket and hold it out for him. That long tongue whips out and wraps around it with pinpoint accuracy, tugging it into his mouth where he holds it and savors it just the way I taught him. “I’ll see you soon, Gamma. I’ll be right there with you.”


I remember the early days well. Did vipers always grow up so quickly? Or is that just another of the Elders’ modifications? Back then Gamma was no larger than a dog, all coiled up on the floor of the observation room. He loved my lessons, loved learning. Then again it was the only time he was out of that tank. Suspended like a pickle in a jar, is that any way for a living, thinking creature to live?
He was so disarming, with his perpetual puppy dog smile and none of the black spikes along his side. Those grew in later. I never understood their fears until that one day it went wrong. The day I was reminded that we were dealing with an alien war machine.

Across from me at that same table, coiled on an elevated booster seat, Gamma had been learning his words using alphabet blocks. “Next, I want you to spell washing for me. Washing.”
Gamma’s body stretches out, arching over the table. His muscular tail holds his torso there like as though it were defying gravity. Tiny hands grasp each block, reptilian eyes taking due measure of each letter in turn. Once he finds the letters he is looking for there is no hesitation. Arranged on the table between us is w-a-s-h-i-n-g.
“Very good, Subject Gamma. Can you use washing in a sentence?”
The long tongue in his mouth begins feeling around, testing sounds. He speaks slowly to approximate the sounds that a human mouth can make. “We wash the table after arts and crafts.” He looks up at me and I place a hand on his head, a proud smile on my face.
“That’s right. You’re getting good at this.”
Our lesson is brought to a halt by the intercom crackling to life above. Doctor Vahlen’s cold voice sounds even more distant in the wide, echoing observation chamber. “The allocated time for today’s lesson is over. It is time for Subject Gamma to return to its tank.”
It’s earlier than normal. Vahlen must be eager to run more of her tests. I get up from my chair to lead Gamma back to the exit of the chamber, but he refuses to budge. Even against my pull, his body remains firm. “Too soon. I want to learn more!”
I have to pick him up to move him. He fights against me, trying to wriggle free. I can feel his body getting colder, painfully cold against my bare hands. He’s never fought me like this before. Must be getting into a rebellious phase.
“Mister Cole, be careful!” Vahlen’s voice urges me from above. She presses the alert button and guards begin to rappel down the walls.
“Wait!” I put the struggling snake back down in his high chair and turn to face the two security officers. They are wearing old standard issue XCOM Carapace Armor from the invasion. I can’t see their faces behind tinted glass visors, but I know them. Everyone in a facility this small knows each other. “Grace, Harry. Hold on. I have this under control.”
“It’s poising to strike!” Grace shouts at me, leveling her handgun at Gamma. In a fit of heroic stupidity, I jump in the way. It is not a bullet that rips through me. I feel a sudden numbing of pins and needles shoot through my left arm. The world seems to run in slow motion as I look to the side. It’s like my arm has been covered in liquid nitrogen, frozen solid in an instant. I scream and feel my legs give out as I faint.
The last thing I see is Gamma slithering down to my side with a mortified look on his face, and Harry jabbing a stun prod into his stomach.


That was a long time ago. Six years. I flex the fingers on my prosthetic arm. There is no feeling in them. The only thing that tells me they are moving at all is the sound of tapping on the arm of my plastic chair. My face wears that same mortified look that Gamma had that day. The feeling of betrayal as I watch him poked and prodded in a massive test tube, suspended in chemicals that simultaneously paralyze and sustain him. Little, tiny mechanical digits not unlike my own extract samples with needles. They dig into private places. I can see in his face that he is aware even as his body cannot move.
This is a daily occurrence. Any time Gamma is not in his lessons with me, he is being researched or held in this tube suspended while one of the other subjects is researched. I can see the back of Vahlen’s head as she taps on the keyboard, playing with Gamma like a marionette on her strings. Even without seeing it, I can feel the smug, contented smile on her face.
She is not the same person I knew during the invasion. Are any of us?