Mother Ship

by Scott Bartlett

  Max peered through the windshield in shock. The engine had started to smoke, and the metal of the hood was blackened and twisted.

  Then, there was a popping sound, and the truck began to swerve crazily as Jimmy wrestled with the steering wheel. “Damn it,” he yelled. “That was one of our tires.”

  The truck careened off the road, but Jimmy didn’t slow, the Silverado bouncing over the uneven ground. Chancing to glance out of the left back window, Max saw that they were attracting attention: everyone who’d been wandering the base was now trudging toward them, it seemed.

  Returning his gaze to the front, Max saw the cluster of buildings Jimmy was trying to reach. A crowd was already starting to gather, blocking their way. If not for them, Jimmy might have reached the buildings in a matter of seconds.

  Still, Jimmy didn’t slow.

  “Jimmy?”

  The front of the truck bulldozed an elderly man, and he disappeared beneath the undercarriage, registering as a larger-than-normal bump. Then a young woman went under, and a balding man.

  Max winced, forcing himself not to shut his eyes.

  The laser came again, connecting with the bed cap, melting it.

  The beam must have broken through at least partially—a bang followed, and the entire vehicle vibrated.

  “That was the ammo going off.” Jimmy’s voice was tight.

  “All of it?”

  His friend’s head jerked. “I don’t think so.”

  They made it to the buildings, the Silverado passing into what looked like a large supply shed whose door had been left open.

  Jimmy’s hands were white on the steering wheel. “That thing’s not going to stop. I doubt we’re safe in here.”

  Twisting around, Max looked past the smoking wreck that was the truck bed, and saw that the people outside were making their way toward them. “We need to leave the truck.”

  Both Jimmy and Tara turned in their seats to stare at him.

  “Leave our only protection?” Jimmy said.

  “It’s a liability, now. If we continue on foot, there’s a chance we’ll get lost in the crowd.”

  Tara frowned. “The crowd that’s probably going to try to kill us, you mean.”

  “If we stay in the truck, it’ll explode with us in it. Come on.” Max grabbed his assault rifle and opened the door.

  The first people were stumbling into the shed, and he raised his weapon.

  Time seemed to slow as he tried to come up with a way to avoid killing them. But there was no other way. The people staggering toward him wouldn’t respond to threats, or even warning shots. They would come at him mindlessly until he died or they did. If he shot them in the legs, they would trip him as he passed—or he’d manage to get past them, and they’d bleed out slowly, suffering until they died.

  Let me in, Tara said. But not the real Tara. The one in his head.

  He drew a trembling sigh as a single tear slid down his cheek. Then he did as the alien force asked, just as his friends appeared at his side. They looked to him, waiting to see what he would do.

  He launched into a few dozen iterations, not wanting to waste time on any more. When he dropped back into reality, he fired a spray of rounds into the encroaching Ravagers, in a way that seemed casual even to him. But the arc of his firing was informed by the iterations, and so it was essentially perfect.

  His shots found the tops of heads and some necks. Not every shot was instantly lethal, and some of the attackers merely staggered backward. But the volley created an opening.

  “Come on,” he said, and sprinted forward. Jimmy and Tara ran after, firing at anything that came near.

  They exited the supply shed and hugged the wall to the right, cutting a swath through the encroaching horde. Once they reached the end of the shed, they crossed to the next, and then to the larger building beyond.

  With the threat of the ship’s laser looming, and the mindless pressing in on them from all sides, Max had time to run only a few iterations, and those he did run lasted no more than a few seconds. Just enough to get them another few feet.

  In one iteration, he saw Jimmy fall to a man wielding a crowbar, his skull caved in by a vicious blow.

  He dropped back into real-time, armed with the knowledge there was no time to find the optimal way to deal with the man. Instead, he simply let reality play out, shooting off the top of the would-be attacker’s head at point-blank range, before he could deliver the killing blow he’d been poised to.

  Another iteration showed Tara piled on by six people who left deep gouges in her face, neck, and arms as her clothes ripped audibly.

  Back in real-time, Max steered them clear of that group, sending a burst of rounds their way to ward them off.

  He never stopped moving, instead letting himself fall into the dance of battle. Dodging, firing, running, reloading.

  It felt like falling, endlessly. He ran iterations even as he fired his semi-automatic, and as they passed between a series of long buildings that looked like dormitories, Jimmy and Tara died ten times, one hundred times, a thousand. Each time it happened, he let reality snap back into place, and he averted those deaths. Jimmy and Tara survived, and they would never know how many times this base had nearly become their grave.

  Another iteration: they reached an open area, and the ship’s beam stabbed down, melting them where they stood.

  He let reality resume its normal course, making sure they avoided that area. To have a hope of surviving, they needed to stick to the buildings, and to the murderous throng.

  Though the iterations were short, and he lacked the time to run as many as before, he still went through thousands. As they crossed the compound, fighting their way south, it seemed to Max that he lived out countless bloody lifetimes, and watched his friends die countless times. That took a toll on him.

  They inched their way past the dormitories, past what looked like an important building on their left—possibly the base’s headquarters—and then through another cluster of buildings, which looked to Max like part rural community, part industrial park.

  Here, there was a mix of what were clearly aircraft hangars and miscellaneous other buildings. One was a gym, according to the sign out front. There was a fire station, a steam plant with towering smokestacks, and a bunch of buildings Max couldn’t identify.

  There was also the densest throng of people yet, every one converging on the trio. Every one of them intent on murdering them.

  In the iterations, the Ravagers succeeded in the effort. Max watched his friends die again and again. His stomach roiled, and he wanted to vomit. Instead, he moved through a plan he put together on the fly. Shooting. Reloading. Using the butt of the Colt when he could. Cutting a swath through a sea of flesh.

  At last, they reached a final, empty stretch. On the other side sat the largest hangar Max had seen yet. It also looked the newest.

  And it was directly below the saucer, with people packed around it almost shoulder to shoulder.

  Jimmy glanced at him as he reloaded his rifle, his fingers shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline. “There’s no way.”

  Max nodded. He didn’t bother running any iterations to test Jimmy’s analysis. It was clearly true. There were too many Ravagers. They’d never make it through.

  Behind them, the rest of the horde was closing in.

  This is it.

  Then, something happened. People filed out of the hanger, taking up positions against the wall. They were all armed. As one, they fired into the crowd, their shots concentrated. They began to cut a path through it.

  “There,” Max said. “Focus your fire there. And for God’s sake, don’t hit any of our new friends.”

  “What’s to stop them from hitting us?” Tara asked.

  Max didn’t answer. They had to take the chance—there was no other way.

  With the help of the iterations, each of his shots found the top of a skull, blasting through each target’s brain casing and neutralizing them instantly. The instant each r
ound left the barrel, Max switched to the next target, his finger constantly pumping on the trigger.

  His new ability had granted him world-class marksmanship, but he couldn’t afford to marvel at the feat.

  I’m getting used to the iterations.

  Somehow, no friendly fire hit them. The newcomers’ shooting seemed just as flawless as Max’s. In turn, Jimmy and Tara were being extremely careful with their aim, to avoid shooting their new allies.

  And then, there was no one between them and the hangar. No one alive, at least. They sprinted the rest of the way, panting.

  “Thanks for the assist,” Max said as they neared the people arranged in formation against the large building.

  They gave no response, or any sign that they heard him at all. Like statues, they still knelt or stood, their weapons raised toward the swarming crowd. Their eyes were empty. And when Max, Jimmy, and Tara were safely past, they started firing again.

  “They’re automatons too,” Tara said. “Just working for a different side, I guess.”

  Jimmy gave a humorless chuckle. “Hopefully it’s humanity’s side.”

  “Come on.” Max pulled open the door and plunged into the dimness inside.

  A single craft occupied the vast hangar, dwarfed by it. Overhead, only two fluorescent panels were turned on.

  But the craft provided its own illumination, glowing softly, though it had no immediately evident light source.

  It was a miniature version of the giant saucer that hung directly above them. Max doubted any more than one person could fit inside, if indeed it was outfitted for any passengers at all. Its surface was scratched, and one side of it was dented and twisted, as though from a great impact.

  But it looked like it had been patched up. As best as humans knew how, he guessed.

  “That’s it.” Jimmy’s voice came out breathless. “The crashed UFO. The one that started it at all.”

  A few weeks ago, Max would have rolled his eyes when he heard Jimmy talk like this. He would never do that again. Throughout their long years of friendship, Jimmy had said plenty of off-the-wall things, and Max had discounted pretty much all of it.

  But now, he was prepared to believe that anything could come to pass.

  They approached the disk together, silent, almost reverent.

  But Max was the only one to reach out and touch it.

  A surge of sensation ran through his body, and for a split second the hangar disappeared, along with his friends. No new information was conveyed—just a rush of emotion, and of memory.

  In less than a heartbeat, his every memory was ordered in a way that gave him an almost cosmic perspective on his own life. He saw how vulnerable he was, and how ignorant. He saw that, despite those things, he’d always stayed true to himself, and done the best he could.

  It was a sort of vindication. Or maybe just forgiveness.

  When his vision cleared, and he saw the hangar again, he didn’t fully trust what he’d experienced. He hadn’t been changed by it—at least, not significantly. All the people he’d killed, today and during the last several days…those cardinal sins would never leave him, and he doubted his sleep would ever be untroubled again.

  And yet, he felt a measure of peace. Maybe that would be enough to maintain his sanity.

  Long enough to see the job done, anyway.

  Light shone from thin cracks in the saucer’s surface—cracks where no seam had been detectable before. The cracks formed a rectangle, and that rectangle lifted to reveal a hollowed interior, which also glowed without lights.

  Max exchanged glances with Jimmy, and then Tara.

  There was only room for one.

  Jimmy’s expression was solemn. “It’s all you, Max.”

  “No. I can’t leave you here.”

  “I don’t think you have a choice,” Tara said. “Now isn’t the time to be modest, or whatever it is you’re trying to be right now. You’re it, Max. You were always it.”

  Max gave a heavy sigh. He raised a hand to his cheek and found it damp. When did I start crying?

  “All right,” he choked out. “I—I love you. Both of you.”

  Jimmy blinked. “Uh…cool, man. You too, bud.”

  Tara’s eyebrows were raised. “That’s really nice, Max. Just don’t screw up, okay?”

  He might have laughed—at how mushy he was being, as well as his friends’ tepid reactions. “All right. I’ll try not to. Don’t die.”

  Jimmy raised his father’s hunting rifle. “We’ll try our best.”

  Max nodded, and crawled inside. There was nowhere comfortable to sit—just a curved floor made from an alloy that was cool to the touch.

  The craft hummed softly, and he gave his friends a small smile as the hatch closed, blocking them from view.

  56

  2 days to extinction

  The pitch of the craft’s humming increased, and Max felt a gentle upward tug.

  Did we lift off?

  It was impossible to tell. This was almost certainly the same ship that had been reverse engineered to build the Lark X-1s, so it would have the same gravity-manipulation capabilities. It could travel at fifteen Gs, probably a lot more, and his body wouldn’t experience any more pressure than this.

  He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the claustrophobic confines of the craft. Instead, he focused on checking over his semi-automatic, then on taking stock of his remaining ammo: whatever was left in the current magazine, plus one more full magazine on his belt.

  That made him wince. Where was the ship taking him, and how much resistance could he expect there?

  His best guess was that it was bringing him to the saucer above. The same one that had just tried to fry him, along with Jimmy and Tara.

  He didn’t like to think about what that might mean for what side the entity helping him was really on. Could this all be an elaborate way of capturing him, so that humanity truly stood no chance? Then they could proceed with their extermination as planned.

  No. They would have just taken me out, if they wanted to do that.

  Unless they wanted to study him. But what could an advanced species possibly learn from that?

  He gave up trying to reason it out. It was probably futile to try to understand the motives of intellectually superior beings, which the aliens had to be.

  He simply clutched his assault rifle, keeping it pointed at the part of the bulkhead where he’d come in, and tried to prepare himself mentally for whatever was coming.

  “Are you there?” he whispered, feeling a little foolish.

  No answer. The voice he’d been communicating with didn’t choose to speak. Nor had it for a while. That probably meant he’d done everything it wanted him to.

  I guess it isn’t much for small talk.

  Unlike the Lark X-1s, the saucer’s cramped interior had no displays to tell him what might be going on outside. Or if it did, it didn’t bother to turn them on and show him.

  Time stretched on, and Max began to suspect that the thing had taken him somewhere other than the saucer hovering over the Area 51 hangar.

  Or maybe my perception of time has just gone screwy. Packing several lifetimes into one will probably do that to you.

  Without warning, the hatch opened again.

  Tara stood outside the craft. Max frowned, lowering his weapon.

  “Wait,” he said. “This thing didn’t even move?”

  She smiled, saying nothing. Then he saw the way she glowed with the same ethereal white light as back in the GDA installation, when they’d been alone together in his room. Or rather, when he’d been alone with the alien’s projection of Tara.

  Carefully, he pushed himself to his feet, holding his rifle at the ready. He didn’t aim it at her—he doubted he could bring himself to do that, even knowing it wasn’t really Tara. But he was ready to aim it at just about anything else.

  Climbing out of the craft, he found himself in a low-ceiling chamber. Behind him, daylight filtered through a yawning aperture, which
looked out over Area 51. The base still swarmed with the mindless.

  The daylight was the only obvious illumination, and yet the entire chamber was evenly lit with a soft, blue glow. He knew humans found blue calming—was the same true of whatever beings flew this thing? A thrill shot through him at the thought that he was probably about to meet some honest-to-goodness aliens.

  “What are you?” he asked Tara’s likeness.

  Her smile broadened. “That will come soon. For now, you must act.”

  “Act how?”

  She pointed past him. Where he’d been sitting, a gray rectangular block now rested. It hadn’t been there before, he was sure of that, and he hadn’t heard it being placed there. Yet, there it was.

  “You must carry that to the ship’s brain. Placing it inside the master control will grant us full access to its navigational and weapons systems.”

  “What is it?”

  “It is me.”

  He shot her a strange look, then crawled back into the craft to collect the strange object. It had rounded corners, and when he picked it up its surface felt perfect; extremely pleasing to the touch. The thing had some heft, but less than he’d expected.

  “Will anything try to stop me from doing that?”

  “No. You may leave your weapon here, though I understand carrying it affords you some comfort.”

  “Nothing will stop me from taking over this ship?”

  “You will not ‘take it over,’ as you say, Max. I will. But to answer your question, no, nothing will. You see, it isn’t supposed to be possible for a member of a vassal species to gain access to the interior of an Absolver.”

  “Wait. Vassal species?”

  Tara shook her head ruefully. “The more answers I give, the more questions you will have. You must understand that orchestrating this outcome has required centuries of constant strain, strain that has multiplied with the arrival of the Clemency Fleet. But I do not ask for your sympathy. I am merely trying to stress to you how urgent everything has become. You must act, and you must act now.”

  “Got it.” But instead of moving—or asking which direction he should take—he placed the gray block on the deck, shifted the semi-automatic to his left hand, and stepped toward Tara to raise his right hand to her cheek.