by P A Vasey
Stillman interrupted. “But won’t Adam already know about Holland meeting the aliens? And therefore about the upcoming invasion?”
I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t sure. “I got no sense that they were in communication with Adam.” I said. “So as far as the alien in his head knows, it’ll still be looking to transmit the formula back home.”
Stillman frowned. “I’m worried about Adam’s state of mind, and the control that the alien has over him. If he’s even survived the helicopter crash. We’ve heard nothing about his whereabouts, no sightings. What’s he been doing? And why hasn’t he gone to the crater? Or SETI?”
Afro nodded vigorously. “Exactly. He doesn’t know that they’ve already gotten the formula, right? Then shouldn’t we still assume his plan would be to use the transmitter at SETI?”
I shrugged. “We’ve really no way to be sure. The emotions I’d felt from the alien were raw, uncultured and unhindered by morality. I got the impression that it was on a steep learning curve, and its excitement at the violence it had perpetrated was palpable. The pleasure and anticipation I’d sensed when it was telling Adam what the machine host was capable of doing was almost childlike. Maybe he’s away somewhere, rebooting, enhancing, learning, whatever…” my voice tailed off.
I was exhausted, confused, and so far out of my comfort zone that I couldn’t see it in my rear view mirror. Clear thinking was needed, and in my experience most of my sensible decisions were made when I was calm and happy. The erratic things I’d done, my life’s fuck-ups and mistakes, were all driven by impulses when I was fearful and anxious.
Like now.
I had vowed never again to make choices that matter when I was out of control.
So much for that.
I closed my eyes and thought about Adam. What did I really feel about him? Was there really a ‘him’ any more? I supposed so… weren’t we all ultimately our thoughts and feelings, our personalities, our consciousness - not our physical bodies? Isn’t a quadriplegic still human if he or she can think and love and cry and experience life?
“Well, we’re nearly there,” said Hubert quietly. “There’ve been no reports of any activity so maybe we’re ahead of the game.”
I took a large swallow of the Kraken, and said nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SETI Institute, Mountain View, CA
It was getting dark by the time we completed our breakneck drive in a convoy of blacked-out FBI vehicles from the small airport at Clear Mountain to the main gateway at SETI. We were waved through a gate that had been reinforced by barriers of concrete and fences of barbed wire manned by dozens of armour-clad FBI and US Army personnel. After a walking tour of the defences, we made our way through the fire stairs to the highest level of the main building and opened an access door to the roof. Hubert and I were handed UV-capable binoculars and we shuffled close to the edge of the roof and got down on our stomachs to survey the scene below.
There was an elevated knoll two hundred yards northeast of the ring of armour and police lines encompassing the main campus. The night vision glasses picked out SWAT teams with snipers strategically deployed in trees and on top of buildings. There were hastily built riot control fences manned by regular police officers with body armour and helmets. Dozens of FBI agents were positioned at each corner of the main building, accompanied by Army HUMVEEs with machine guns. Two FBI helicopters were visible behind another block of low set outbuildings, rotors spinning lazily but crouched and ready to leap into the air. On the main north-south drag leading in I could make out a road block with six or seven black and whites lined up, lights flashing, turning back traffic in a big loop across the six lane highway. I could see another helicopter approaching, searchlight sweeping metronomically left and right, police officers carrying rifles hanging out the windows.
My muscles gave an involuntary shiver despite the warm, balmy conditions. There was no wind, and the gentle thrum of the rotor blades in the background was the only thing I could hear. The trees looked like burnt, ominous versions of their daytime selves, and Hubert’s face was aglow with the flickering orange and whites of the searchlight beams. In the far distance, the silhouette of the L.A. skyline pierced through the night canvas like a jagged ridge of concrete mountains. Millions of lights caused the dense mass of skyscrapers to glitter, and car taillights resembled blood cells flowing through the veins of the city. Despite the time, the hustle and bustle never came to a halt. I envied the city's residents, heading off for a movie or to chill out in a smoky jazz bar downtown.
I heard footsteps and Stillman joined us on the ledge dressed in her FBI vest and wearing a helmet. She crouched next to us and pulled out her firearm, checking the load.
“We don’t know if he’s coming here,” she said without looking up. “What if he’s somehow received a message already, telling him just to sit tight and wait for his friends to come through?”
I felt my stomach tighten into a knot as I resumed my scan of the woods and trees around the main campus. The woods were simply too dark to see much at all, and the flickering searchlight beams merely increased the contrast. Black tree trunks against an almost black backdrop don’t make for much to see, and my imagination began to supply shapes and figures to fill the void.
Then Hubert took a deep intake of breath.
“Shit, I think he’s here,” he whispered, peering through his binoculars and pointing a finger towards the knoll just at the side of the denser tree line.
I brought my glasses up and looked to where he was indicating. As they focussed, I saw movement, a figure disappearing behind a tree, just as a searchlight swept over the spot where it’d been standing. I felt my jaw drop and my heart started thudding in my chest like a trip hammer. The tree, now fully illuminated by searchlights, started to sway with the downdraft from the approaching helicopters.
Hubert grabbed a walkie-talkie and started frantically yelling instructions into it. Stillman had her gun up and was pointing it at the knoll, seemingly oblivious to the distance involved.
I closed my eyes and concentrated. “Adam,” I said softly, so no one around me could hear. “It’s Kate. Can you hear me?”
Instantly I felt a tickle behind my eyes, and the feeling you get when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight. I’d caught his attention. “I know you can hear me,” I said, this time without speaking aloud. “Where’ve you been? Talk to me.”
I waited, but while the feeling of insects crawling around my head continued, there was no response. Then, an explosion of sensory input suddenly overwhelmed me as I gained access to his thoughts. I rolled over onto my back clutching my head, and was vaguely aware of Hubert and Stillman’s hands grabbing me. I could see their concerned faces, saw their mouths moving, but their voices were obscured by a shrieking white noise.
I was inside his head. Electronic and neurological pathways were being activated and overstimulated, all beyond Adam’s control. He was a passenger, a driver in a race car careening towards a barrier with no steering or brakes. I could feel him concentrating hard, trying to attain a degree of control over his limbs, but the alien was running the show. I could hear it speaking with him, but the conversation was subliminal, and I couldn’t get details, just impressions and vague thought bubbles. I concentrated hard but an undercurrent of malevolence, a dark pastel of evil, coloured everything. Then without warning, his mind closed and the white noise dissipated.
I was a bit shaky, and Hubert helped me to my feet. “He’s still in there,” I said, my voice unsteady. “He’s not in control, though.”
Hubert’s eyes bored into mine. “We could just let him through. Pull back. Let him use the transmitter and then talk with him. With it.”
“The alien’s not here to talk to us,” I said, panic rising. “I think it wants to kill everyone.”
Stillman had gone back to looking through her binoculars and we joined her to peer over the edge. Adam was running at full tilt towards barriers of plasticised all
oy behind which were teams of police and FBI with guns pointing his way. Immediately, spotlights blazed with white light and swung round toward him, followed swiftly by gunfire as the police opened up. He traversed sideways quicker than the searchlight could keep up and took cover behind a low wall surrounding a laboratory outbuilding. Ricochets and impacts stitched holes in the plasterboard and concrete surrounding him. He took a step - back out into the line of fire - and raised a hand towards the searchlights. The bulbs exploded and darkness enveloped the SETI grounds. Gunfire ceased momentarily, and the helicopter reappeared, its light seeking him out. He reached out towards it and the rotor blades seemed to seize and whirl erratically. It started to spin out of control, tumbling over and over until it crashed into the trees on the knoll, blowing up and casting an orange glare over what was now a battlefield.
Adam walked slowly and directly toward the line of shooters who opened up with everything they had. However, none of their bullets reached him. As the rounds got to within a few yards they were deflected by an invisible barrier, ricocheting in all directions. The police were discharging automatic weapons as fast as the magazines would allow but he continued to walk forward, ignoring the fusillade, and to my eyes only vaguely aware of the deflected fire.
I could hear voices ordering retreat and regroup as he walked along the side of the laboratory towards the main building. Thirty yards away were two black armoured SWAT vehicles, lights burning brightly and guns swinging around. The police crouching behind started to flank him, firing sporadically as their SWAT trucks crunched gears and rolled forwards. Bullets were flying in from all sides as another group of police officers appeared from behind barricades parallel to the main building. Some were carrying large shoulder-held armaments. A couple of gas grenades were lobbed in his general direction, exploding noisily and producing yellow smoke that lazily drifted southwards on the breeze.
Adam stopped and raised both arms to the sky, almost in supplication, almost like surrender. Unfortunately, it was anything but surrender. There was a rippling in the air around him, like the blurring, pixilation effect you see on TV news. Huge gouts of gravel, soil, rocks and underground pipes and wiring exploded vertically from the earth and a tsunami of dirt and concrete spread outward and flipped the SWAT trucks. Soldiers and police officers were caught up in the wave and hurled into the air only to be crushed or mangled by flying debris. Then as suddenly as it had happened, vehicles and debris and bodies crashed to earth as if the flipping of a switch had restored gravity. Plumes of smoke and yellow-blue fires were starting as gasoline leaks were ignited. I could hear screaming and was aware that the gunfire had all but ceased. Then Adam stepped through the cloud, unscathed, and started walking towards the main SETI building. I thought he glanced up at me on the roof, but I couldn’t be certain.
“What just happened?” shouted Stillman.
I didn’t answer because I was inside his mind again. I could picture the earth beneath him consisting of a spiders-web of fault lines and micro-fractures secondary to decades of construction works. He had been able to see through the bedrock and through the layers of strata many hundreds of yards deep. Then these had been ripped apart and propelled upwards, without any explosives.
“Gravity,” I said, wide-eyed. “He can control gravity.”
Hubert was on the walkie-talkie again, issuing instructions for withdrawal. I pulled his arm down, and he looked at me, irritated. “We’ve got to get out of here,” I shouted. “He’s going to the transmitter, so let him.”
The cries of the injured on the ground below could still be heard, and I took another peek over the ledge. Adam was ten yards away from the rear entrance of the SETI institute when a couple of soldiers emerged and spotted him. Well trained, they dropped into a crouch and raised their weapons. Before they could fire Adam merely raised a hand and the soldiers fell to the ground, unconscious or dead I had no idea. The doors crashed open disgorging dozens more troops, but Adam just spread his fingers like he was flicking water droplets and the soldiers were violently lifted into the air and thrown against the walls of the building. Taking one last look up at me, he entered the lobby, vanishing from sight.
“Shit, he’s inside,” said Stillman. “How do we get out now?”
Hubert pointed to the back wall, where a metal door was propped open with a brick. “There’s a service elevator over there. It’ll take us all the way down. Let’s go.”
He instructed the rest of the FBI agents on the roof to hold their positions, and the three of us ran across the roof to the door. It creaked open on a rusty hinge and we hustled through. Hubert called the elevator, which was already on our level, and as the doors inched open slowly we squeezed in. There was no light and the control panel was not illuminated so Hubert pulled out his phone and shone a light on it. There were only four floors marked, 1-4.
“Which floor is the exit on?” I said.
Hubert shrugged, and pressed ‘1’.
The doors closed with a lurch and the car started its wheezy descent. After what seemed like hours we jerked to a halt and the doors opened onto what looked like a version of hell. White and red lights were strobing through smoke and gas-filled corridors. There was a fire alarm going off, whoops and tones interrupted by a looped recorded message to leave the building by the fire exits. The public elevator doors were visible at the far end of the lobby, guarded by at least two dozen SWAT, semi-recumbent behind upside down reception desks and display cabinets.
We started to walk towards the SWAT team when the elevator doors swooshed open and Adam strode out. The SWAT and FBI agents didn’t wait for instructions and opened fire through the smoke. Once again, the bullets were deflected and spun in random directions, stitching holes in the walls and ceiling. I could hear a sound like flies whizzing past my ear as a couple of rounds came our way. I dropped to the ground, as did Hubert and Stillman, and we hugged the wall.
“Adam!” I shouted. I saw him glance at me and through the smoke I could make out piercing green eyes.
Shit.
He looked away and made that supplicant gesture again. The floor in front of him began to ripple and undulate and melt as concrete and girders were ripped apart like paper tissues. He stepped forward through the debris and dust and disappeared through the hole. I pulled myself upright and ran to the edge of the hole which had melted through two floors. I could just see him walking into an office on the second basement level. He waved a hand at the wall which split and peeled outwards, sparks from sundered electrical wiring producing a firework display.
“The transmitter’s down there,” said Stillman as she joined us. “It’s still online. There’re still a bunch of technicians working on it.”
Hubert had his hand over his mouth, trying to block out the dust that was everywhere, mingling with the gas. He coughed and looked at me. “It doesn’t matter that it’s irrelevant any more. We can’t just leave them.”
I nodded grimly, and we ran to the stairwell next to the elevator, and barrelled down two flights of stairs, Hubert huffing and puffing at the rear. Bursting out into the corridor, we encountered another group of police, guns locked and loaded, defending a large piece of equipment that I recognized as the SETI transmitter.
“Leave everything!” Shouted Hubert. “Back up the fire exit, cover the civilians!”
There was a low almost subsonic rumble and the wall down the corridor melted and Adam stepped through. He stood motionless as the police opened up, and a hailstorm of lead engulfed him and continued to be deflected away. I thought I could just make out a fuzzy layer of pixelated air surrounding his body, man-shaped and extending a couple of feet or so.
“He’s projecting some kind of force field!” I shouted, and ducked around the side of the elevator as ricochet after ricochet whistled our way and punched holes into the walls and elevator doors.
Hubert started windmilling his arms and shouted to his troops, “Move! Get out! Retreat NOW!” and the police started to withdraw, firing rapidly and a
ccurately, but as ineffectual as flies chewing on a rhinoceros.
I poked my head cagily round the corner. “Adam!” I yelled.
His back was to me and he was walking to the transmitter. He stopped briefly, but didn’t turn. I was aware of Hubert frantically waving at me to get back into the elevator. He was yelling something, but I couldn’t make it out over the noise of the alarms and the smoke obscuring his face. He was shouting into a walkie-talkie, and ushering his men into the elevator and the stairwell, Stillman doing the same.
Adam turned, and although the green light in his eyes was still visible, was it my imagination or was it less intense? I tried to concentrate my thoughts and my mind, but I still couldn’t hear him in there. His face was impassive and he gave no sign he recognised me. I hesitatingly started to walk forward, when the six high explosive devices strapped around the transmitter detonated.
Reflexively I jerked back behind the wall as the nearest police and FBI were blown off their feet. I felt the pressure wave vibrate through the plaster that cracked and crumbled before me, pouring dust and detritus everywhere. A fist of orange flame punched its way out of the transmitter room, windows shattered, smoke poured along the ceiling and thousands of pieces of glass and steel showered down. More alarms - shrill and deafening - erupted. A huge bite had been taken out of the wall and the floor above. My head spun and I couldn’t breathe and I tumbled to the ground. Dust was everywhere and all the lights went out. The fire alarm continued to blare, and sprinklers activated, spraying water in every direction. FBI agents lay on the ground, some in foetal positions trying to protect their ears and organs, others splayed like rag dolls covered in dust and plaster and glass. I groaned and managed to roll over on my side just in time to see Adam, unharmed, rise from the rubble like a phoenix from the ashes.
A few yards away one of the fallen SWAT lying awkwardly under a lintel brought his Glock up to bear with a speed his instructors at Quantico would have been proud. He squeezed the trigger rapidly and I watched all the rounds hit Adam centre mass at point blank range with no effect. Adam just pointed in his general direction and the gun was jerked away and sent skittering down the corridor. The agent crabbed backwards and put his body protectively over one of his fallen colleagues, a female officer with her neck at an awkward angle and blood trickling down her mouth. Adam walked slowly over to them and stopped, looking down, seemingly uncertain what to do next.
