Hybrid

by Greg Ballan

  Richard felt his heart sink. "But all those readings our geologists swore were precious metals, how could they be wrong?"

  "The metals and minerals are there," Conrad answered with an ironic lilt to his voice. "They're all incorporated into the shell of the tomb, part of its alloy, the other parts our instruments can't decipher. Other mineral readings could be false echoes or from metallic objects inside the tomb itself, we just don't know at this point. The instruments picked up what they were programmed to pick up. They weren't programmed to detect alien metals, so they only picked up the native metallic compounds within the alloy and whatever was inside the tomb itself.

  "The bottom line is simple: We can't mine the prison vault. We don't have that capability to extract the metals from the alien alloy. Even if we could, any attempt to remove pieces of the chamber would most likely cause a cave in nearly half a mile long which would change the landscape, not to mention kill any miners inside the tunnel. This would no doubt attract undue attention. We've wasted hundreds of thousands of dollars in shareholder equity undertaking this effort, and several lives, not to mention a multi-million-dollar argon laser platform that we can't afford to replace, and at present have no way to recover. This project is a debacle, gentlemen."

  The room was silent as each board member and officer digested the contents of what was just said. Richard detected several hostile glares from other members of the board and corporate officers. He met their gazes, each one of them. Richard had to respond, quickly.

  "Now is not the time to assign blame, gentlemen, all of our signatures were on the approval documents for this undertaking. No one man alone can shoulder all the responsibility for this. We are all at fault, just as we would all have shared in the profits had this undertaking borne fruit. What's imperative now is a decisive course of action to limit the damage already done," he cautioned his staff. "You still haven't given us a solution, Mr. Conrad. You have the look of a man with a scheme, would you care to share with the rest of us?"

  Conrad stood and placed both his hands on the table. "Gentlemen, the solution to this problem is already in place, up on that mountain. The very monsters themselves," he said in an amused tone. "We don't have to do anything. Those poor bastards will never make it to the tunnel site. From what we've seen in the police reports, only Mr. Knight can detect these creatures, the other people who've encountered these things could neither see nor hear them until it was too late, again, according to the reports that were filed. Richard, you yourself said that your wife and Knight's friends convinced him not to venture back up onto the mountain. I imagine the young girl you say he's hooked up with did some fair convincing of her own."

  The board sneered and chuckled as Conrad continued.

  "All we do is sit back and watch the impending disaster unfold before us," he added. "The cops and the jarheads won't have any more luck than Knight and the operatives from Halls Agency did. These creatures have staked out that territory, according to the data we have from Knight and the police. Monday's excursion into that area is nothing short of a suicide run. All they'll succeed in doing is adding to the body count," he concluded.

  "What if you're wrong, Conrad? If we do nothing and they manage to get up there, we're all done for," a board member challenged.

  "If they make it up there, we deny everything, we can bottleneck any litigation for years. We'll claim these men did what they did of their own volition. It's easy to blame a corpse." The man snickered. "They never have too much to say in their own defense," Conrad added with a voice that chilled every person in the room. "We'll monitor the frequencies they're utilizing. Our stooge on the force can give us that information. All we have to do is sit by and listen to the massacre as it happens. It should be quite entertaining."

  "I still say that we should do something!" Pendelton's CFO remarked, "If there's even the slightest possibility that tomorrow's mission has any chance of success, we need to have some plan of action in place."

  Conrad shook his head in disagreement. "C'mon, man, you've seen the footage we shot of those things, read the reports and analysis from our technicians. You've been given copies of the police reports from the Hopedale Mountain incident and the encounter at the park. The people going out there tomorrow have no chance. The only ones who don't believe that will be dead by the end of the day tomorrow." He drained his glass of sherry. "Besides, there isn't enough time to do anything anyway. Any attempts to infiltrate our campsite would probably end in the same kind of disaster."

  The room intensified with debate as board members and corporate officers began arguing and debating amongst themselves. Conrad's opinion had clearly polarized the group. Richard allowed the discussion to continue for another twenty minutes, allowing his executives time to voice their concerns, or add insight to this situation. As the discussion evolved, more and more members were swayed to the 'Do Nothing/Deny Everything' option proposed by Conrad. Richard had to privately agree, that was the only viable alternative at the moment. They could, in fact, do nothing. Eighteen hours was not enough time to put together a reconnaissance team and gather the additional equipment that a team would need. "Okay, gentlemen, it's time for a decision. Do we adopt plan D.N.D.E?" he asked the people in the room. Richard watched as, one by one, each member agreed to the proposed Do Nothing option.

  "Good," he began. "We sit back and hope for the worst. I'll have my administrative assistant prepare a list of items that are up at the sight, and we'll prepare a bogus back dated theft report to submit, just in case. It will give us some more concrete 'Plausible Deniability' and allow us to recoup the bulk of our hardware losses through our insurance binder. If we're going to play this game, we may as well play it right," Richard added as he concluded the meeting.

  The board members and officers gathered their materials and began leaving the room. Richard motioned for Conrad to stay behind. Conrad nodded and sat on a large well-padded chair facing the picture window overlooking the scenic Boston waterfront. Richard poured himself another drink and sat next to Conrad.

  "Do you really think this option will pan out?" Richard asked.

  "With Knight out of the picture, I have no doubt tomorrow will prove to be a complete disaster," Conrad replied in a voice booming with confidence. "Based on the video of these things, there's no way to see or hear them, unless they want to be seen or heard. Knight has some sixth sense or something that allowed him to detect these things. Without that equalizer, the men going into the woodlands will be both deaf and blind."

  Richard nodded as both men watched a 757 jetliner land at Logan Airport through the large plate glass window on the high rise. "Have our people learned anything more about Knight, who his employers are? Whom he associates with?" Richard asked.

  "It's different than it was six years ago. Knight keeps a very low profile. We know he's done some work for a high-powered law firm in Boston, Denton, Marks & Priscoli, but our operatives can't get anywhere near the firm. We know Knight has dealt specifically with Denton, the senior-most partner in the firm. We can only assume that Knight is privy to some heavy casework based on that relationship. Denton is a dangerous foe, nobody who goes up against him ever walks away unscathed. I strongly advise that we not poke around this particular relationship. They have some very experienced talent in that firm. It'd be too risky to pursue any one individual. They're all corporate players. If we try to press one, they'll know about it that same day. The last thing we need is a lawsuit or a confrontation, and the bad press that would come from it.

  "Most of his other case work is strictly small time, but totally on the level. It would be difficult to conduct any kind of smear campaign with what little we've gathered. Our friend Mr. Knight has been helping the poor and downtrodden for the past six years, barely making enough to get by. He has a history of paying bills late, but they do get paid. All of his clients, those which we spoke to, were very satisfied with the work he did. The only gray area is the Denton law firm, and that's a nut I don't think we'll ever be able
to crack without serious repercussions," he added.

  "Are we still tailing him?" Richard asked.

  "We're trying," Conrad answered. "He has a knack for knowing when he's being followed. I've got to give the bastard credit, he's damn good at what he does," he said admiringly.

  "Praise, from you, Conrad?"

  "Know your enemy, Mr. Pendelton," Conrad countered quickly. "This isn't the same Erik Knight we tailed six years ago. The novice investigator is now a seasoned journeyman. He survived two encounters with those Hell-Beasts. That alone merits admiration. I can admire and respect my opponent, understanding Knight's strengths will help us find his weakness." Conrad chuckled. "We can partially blame ourselves for that, we helped forge the steel that made him what he is today," he added with an ironic lilt in his voice.

  "What about the girl? What's he doing with her? I wouldn't think she'd be his type," Richard inquired.

  "There's no real mystery there. She owns and operates a Newberry Comics franchise, does a marginal business. It appeals to the punk and off-beat, catering to the building counter-culture in today's youth. Her name is Shanda Kerwick, 31 years of age, born in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. She dropped out of college, B.U., her sophomore year to manage the store she now owns. Her academic performance was less than stellar. Someone close to her said that she'd been dating Knight on and off again, and then it went cold for some reason. An incident in her store several days ago pulled them together as a couple." Conrad studied a photograph of the young woman in question. "Despite the punk attire, she is quite good looking," he added with a dark tone to his voice.

  Richard sat up suddenly. "Do you know what happened?"

  "Yes," Conrad responded. "Two thugs accosted her, trying to force her to sell some questionable merchandise. She refused and things were beginning to get interesting. Mr. Knight was there, with a bouquet of expensive roses, our source claims. Knight eliminated the two men in a rather impressive display of physical unfriendliness. One of the men is still in the hospital with a shattered tibia and femur bone, as well as a broken nose."

  Richard nodded as Conrad concluded his quick report. "Interesting, Mr. Knight has a steady girlfriend. That alone is a weakness we can exploit if needed. If we can't keep Mr. Knight out of my plans, I can use his relationship with Ms. Kerwick as leverage."

  Conrad was confused. "I thought we just agreed that Mr. Knight was out of the picture?"

  "He is," Richard replied. "I'm thinking of a more personal conflict I have with Mr. Knight. He and I share some things in common and I wish to put an end to that common tie," he said with a malicious grin. "But," he added, "one problem at a time, Mr. Conrad, one problem at a time." Richard looked over at his associate. Conrad was busy reviewing another stack of reports. "Something catch your interest?"

  Conrad looked up from the bound document. "Yes, a theory from one of our younger scientists. I didn't have the time to read it earlier. His peers haven't clouded his thinking. He has a different theory about the prison we've unearthed. Based on his interpretation of the data and the correlated readings he presents here, he suggests that what we originally interpreted as a vast prison is actually a massive spacecraft. He claims that the sonar echoes give the tomb an almost perfect circular shape, with a flattened end. Which he proposes houses the ship's propulsion systems. It's an interesting theory, based on what little data we've actually been able to interpret. Our readings on the metallic shell are dubious at best, but there are definite traces of non-terran elements. Shit, we can't translate ninety percent of the writing we've recorded. It has no relation to any phonetic language in our known history." Conrad paused as he took a long drag from a cigarette. "Could it be alien? Yes. Could it be a tomb? Yes. It could also be both, or neither. We just don't have enough information, and based on the events of the past few days, we're in no position to gather any more."

  Richard began to speculate, if this were in fact a ship, the technological wonders inside its mineral-rich hull could advance science by hundreds of years. "If only we could find some way to eliminate those things, or divert them long enough to get a recon team in there," he speculated aloud.

  "A difficult task," Conrad replied. "We're in a conservation area to begin with, which will soon have police and soldiers wandering through it, we have two unknown creatures that have little to no regard for human life. We can only assume that, once these creatures exterminate tomorrow's band of merry men, the area will be sealed off and quarantined." His eyes lit up, as if something clicked inside of his mind. "We will eventually have to go back up there. Despite our bravado during our meeting, there is, for all practical purposes, enough concrete evidence up there to implicate us. No matter how much we deny or delay, if law enforcement officials make it to the site, we will be implicated.

  "I'm sure those morons have dozens of papers and folders with enough written documentation to build a credible case against us. Those scientific types love to keep written journals. We're undoubtedly mentioned on some piece of paper somewhere. When they fail tomorrow, a larger team of heavily armed men will most likely descend upon the area. They will have armor-piercing explosive weapons with the ability to destroy those creatures. Even if we deny and delay, the amount of negative press the liberal Boston Globe would give us will cause a certain amount of discomfort with our majority shareholders," Conrad remarked. "And, if any damaging documentation is unearthed, we'll have a difficult time trying to spin or deflect blame off the corporation."

  Richard nodded. "We need to keep our ears open. I want to know, by the minute, what happens tomorrow. If they do all get slaughtered, we need to prepare." A thought suddenly struck him, as if by divine inspiration. "I've got it." He slammed his fist down on the conference table. "We'll have to time it perfectly, assuming another wave goes in." Richard described his plan in great detail to Conrad. As Conrad heard the details, his shark-like grin grew and grew.

  "I like it," Conrad complimented. "We may just be able to pull this off. Timing will be crucial, but it can be done. It all depends upon them failing tomorrow, and I assure you they will."

  "Make the arrangements," Richard instructed.

  * * *

  Hopedale Mountain

  Sunday night, 9:45 p.m.

  The creature had tried feeding on the young girl again, but could get nothing more from her. It held her in its black claw, waiting for the traces of fear and panic, but they never came. It sensed her life signs, heard her shallow breathing, but instinctively knew she was no longer aware. It placed her back down in the corner where she had crawled earlier. It checked the bowl of murky water and observed some of the fetid liquid had been consumed. It knew that these ape-like things needed water and certain organic nutrients to live, as it needed strong emotions. It looked over at its large companion and communicated telepathically with its larger ally. The large felinoid creature growled. One could almost interpret the frustration and hunger in its primeval roar.

  They would need to hunt again, they needed more of the small ones or they would be forced back into hibernation. They would hunt tomorrow night. The black-armored creature considered the human it fought earlier. He was different from the others. It sensed the presence of its ancient enemy, beings it fought eons ago. The creature also detected the same presence on the female that was with him. She too would be disposed of at the right time.

  The creature remembered the great war 10,000 years ago; how they were created by the Seelak to eliminate the Esper race during the latter part of their war. The Seelak lost the war and they were ironically trapped with their own horrible creations. It remembered a bountiful feed for almost 50 years, and then eons of hibernation and imprisonment underneath millions of tons of rock and dirt, only to be freed into a different world, a world where simians were the dominant species, a food species they needed to prey upon in order to survive. If they could feed sufficiently, they would both return to their full strength, and then none of the strange things that spit fire could harm them. They would be untouchabl
e, and they would reign supreme on an entire planet full of food, not the food they preferred, but food enough to keep them alive and strong.

  It walked over to its nesting area and gently parted some of the debris used in its shelter. It gazed with some affection at the three onyx-colored stones that were its eggs. It could bring its offspring up in a world full of food. They would never know hunger or forced hibernation. The Espers were gone; the Seelak, their food source during their entombment, were gone. Now, there were only primates, and the Primate/Esper hybrid it fought earlier. The creature knew it would have to destroy that primate.

  It absently brushed over an area on its chest cavity where a bullet hole was still healing. It would take the Espers' little one, draw it out into its territory, then rip the thing apart one piece at a time. True to its engineered genetic programming, the two creatures hated Espers. The creatures would make this new Esper hybrid pay for that hate. It carefully climbed into its nest. The felinoid came over and curled itself around the nest to keep it warm. The black-armored creature gently stroked the large cat creature and closed its blood-red eyes. Tomorrow, they would hunt and feed. Then they would be strong and the Esper would die, and this world would belong to them.