A Gift from the Gods

by Martin Gunn

  Taking his advice, von Brandt tied the mask over his mouth and nose; it smelt of Eau de Cologne. Then they entered the theatre. Sprick stood between the cadavers, clearly unaffected by the horrendous sight of their opened-up torsos.

  “Their blood is dark purple; almost black and we have tried make sense of their organs,” he remarked, pointing inside the chest cavity. “These are clearly lungs but much smaller than ours – as is the heart. We have the organs from the creature who died first, laid out on a table over here.”

  “They are tall,” observed von Brandt struggling to hide his disgust, “they must be at least two metres”

  “Two point two, to be precise,” confirmed Sprick.

  “And they are not exactly pretty.”

  “No, but then beauty does lie in the eye of the beholder don’t you think.”

  “There doesn’t appear to be a mouth,” stated von Brandt, daring to venture closer to the face of one.

  “It’s very under-developed in this beak-like arrangement,” agreed the doctor, indicating with his finger, “and interestingly we have found no vocal cords.”

  “You will notice also,” continued Sprick, “how large the cranium is. Two and a half times larger than ours in fact, as is the brain.”

  “What are these two oval depressions either side of the skull?” enquired von Brandt.

  “We are not sure, and since they are attached to the brain, we are guessing that they are some kind of sensory organ.”

  Unaware that his mask was slipping from his face, von Brandt got a whiff of the smell in the room. It was dense, acrid and made him retch. Sprick led the captain hastily out of the room and held him as he bent over coughing and spluttering.

  “Disgusting isn’t it?” smiled Sprick, “I can tolerate most aromas but that one, well – I don’t think I will ever get used to it.”

  As von Brandt was just beginning to regain his composure, Sprick suggested that they take a break before meeting the live alien. Von Brandt agreed and they arranged to meet outside Hangar Two after lunch, assuming he could find his appetite.

  ***

  Even though he had some idea of what to expect, von Brandt was very apprehensive about meeting the surviving alien. Sprick found the captain in the canteen toying with his food and smoking a cigarette.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, sitting down opposite the officer.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “There are some things you need to know before we meet him,” continued Sprick, “Firstly, we have not been able to establish any meaningful form of contact with him – I’m assuming it’s a male. Secondly, he is sealed in a room fed with nitrogen which has enabled him to remove his suit and be more comfortable. The room also acts as a form of quarantine. Who knows what diseases they have brought here?”

  “Let’s get on with it,” urged von Brandt decisively.

  They both stood up, and Sprick led them back over and into Hangar Two. After a long walk down a corridor, they eventually entered a room. In one corner was the quarantine room, about ten feet square and with blinds covering the glass. Two technicians entered the room with them, one carrying a Luger pistol.

  “What’s that for?” enquired von Brandt.

  “Just in case,” replied Sprick, “We don’t know what we are dealing with.”

  The doctor nodded to one of the technicians to raise the blind, and he dutifully walked over and did so. Immediately the creature stood up, as if alarmed by this action. He had been sitting at a table provided for him, along with a bed which had had to be modified to accommodate his height.

  Von Brandt studied the creature intently. Its movement seemed slow, ponderous; graceful even, suggesting that he was studying von Brandt also. The red slits which formed its eyes were emotionless and impassive.

  “Water has been supplied, which he drinks through a straw,” stated Sprick, “After presenting him with various foods, it seems that he prefers liquidised fruit and vegetables. This too is drunk through a straw.”

  “Have you or anyone tried to make contact with him?” enquired von Brandt.

  Sprick shook his head. “This is the first time that I have been in the room since he has been settled into quarantine. What should we ask?”

  “Well, his name might be a good start.”

  Sprick approached the glass nervously. “What is your name?” he enquired, putting unnecessary emphasise on each word.”

  The alien tilted his head slightly as if trying to comprehend. Then it began to react. The soft oval depressions either side of its skull, began to pulse gently and glow. Within a few seconds Sprick was holding his head in agony, then a few seconds later, von Brandt was doing the same. The alien turned his attention towards the technicians. One began to writhe in agony, dropping the Luger to the floor. The second started to feel the pain also. He backed against the wall and slid down to the floor holding his head. As the pain was getting intolerable for him, he jolted into a trance-like state and uttered in a monotone voice,

  “Kavkar. My name is Kavkar.”

  The doctor, recovering from the pain approached the technician and replied, “My name is Doctor Sprick. Do you understand me?”

  The alien slowly nodded.

  “He’s using telepathy to communicate,” stated Sprick, excitedly turning to von Brandt, “this is truly incredible.”

  “Good,” sneered von Brandt, still holding his head, “maybe now we can interrogate him.”

  Kavkar turned his attention to von Brandt and furrowed his heavy brow. He didn’t like what he had scanned in the Nazi’s head. Sprick motioned for him to sit. Kavkar complied and sat at the table, his height made this awkward and he had to turn his legs to the side, rather than tuck them under.

  “We have so many questions, I barely know where to start,” gushed Sprick, still excited. Then he pulled himself together, “Where are you from? Why did you crash here?”

  After a pause Kavkar’s soft oval pads began to pulse and glow again. The technician began to speak.

  “Our galaxy is over ten billion light years from here. You are not aware of it. Our ship had a malfunction, we don’t know why; your planet was our only safe option for a crash landing.”

  “What was your destination? And the purpose of your journey?” asked von Brandt.

  Kavkar turned to address the officer. He frowned again and studied von Brandt, as if trying to ascertain his motives for such a question. Eventually he turned his attention back to his psychic bridge, still sitting on the floor seemingly comatose.

  “We form part of a Galactic Federation which polices the universe.” Kavkar paused for this to sink in, then continued, “There are matters that come to our attention which cannot be allowed.”

  “Like what?” enquired Sprick.

  “I deal with technological advancements which are considered detrimental to all existence.”

  “So, what do you do, confiscate them?”

  “Precisely,” confirmed Kavkar, “our ship is carrying two such advancements which the Federation has prohibited.”

  “Can you tell us what these advancements are?” Sprick found it difficult to contain himself.

  “The first is a Temporal Translocation Device, and the second is an Age Arresting Agent.”

  “Temporal Translocation?” queried von Brandt, “what does he mean?”

  Sprick let the words sink in, and then he became wide eyed with realisation.

  “My God, it’s a time machine!” he exclaimed eventually, “They’re carrying a time machine.”

  Astounded, von Brandt turned and looked at Kavkar, mouth open.

  “And some sort of longevity agent,” continued Sprick in wonderment, “a drug that can prolong life.”

  “Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue, if time travel was to become commonplace? Or if the population were able to live indefinitely
?” stated Kavkar not unreasonably.

  “Yes indeed,” mused Sprick; his mind was already running over the implications of the fatherland having possession of such technology.

  “But how do you contain this knowledge?” enquired Sprick, “After all once the knowledge is out there, it’s …. Well, out there.”

  “I will have to let our interpreter go now,” stated Kavkar ignoring the question, “he will be very tired and need to rest.”

  “Can we speak again tomorrow?” enquired Sprick.

  Kavkar gave no response and then released the technician, who jolted back to normal with a fit-like spasm. They walked over to him and helped the man to his feet.

  “W-what happened to me?” he stammered in his stupor.

  “Don’t you know?” asked von Brandt.

  “I don’t remember a thing,” he replied.

  They all looked over at Kavkar who had now moved over to the bed and was laid out, resting.

  “Let me help you back to your room Hans,” Sprick advised the disoriented technician. He nodded weakly and allowed himself to be led away.

  Von Brandt watched, and then looked back at the alien, now laid out with his eyes shut. Yes, thought von Brandt, we will talk again tomorrow.

  Kavkar had already got the measure of the captain. He had other plans.

  ***

  It was in the small hours of the following morning that von Brandt was awoken from his slumber with a start. A loud wailing sound was penetrating the room and threatening to deafen him. Without a second thought, he jumped out of bed and started to dress. Not bothering with a shirt, he hurriedly left his room, only pausing to pick up his belt and gun holster. The pitch-black night was damp and chilly; von Brandt, having forgotten in his haste to look at the clock by his bed, guessed that it must be around two or three am. As he scanned the area, he sensed that the tumult was emanating from Hangar Two. Sprick, two other technicians and two guards, were also running in that direction and von Brandt could just about make them out. Hurriedly, he made his way over to the hangar and caught up with them, just as they were about to enter.

  “What the hell’s going on?” shouted von Brandt over the noise of the siren.

  “I don’t know,” yelled Sprick in reply, anxious to get in and find out.

  As they entered, the first thing they saw was a guard down the corridor slumped on his front. His right arm was raised up against the wall, just below the alarm button. It was as if he had just managed to press it, before slowly sliding down to the floor.

  They all ran up to him. Sprick and von Brandt got there first and rolled his lifeless body over on to its back. It was then that they both noticed the knife penetrating his right side; pushed right up to the hilt. Setting off the alarm was his last act, before succumbing to his injuries.

  Sprick wasted no time; he ran through the open door which led into the quarantine room. The first thing that he saw was the door to the air-lock open, and Kavkar nowhere to be seen. Close to the open air-lock, they found Hans; he too was slumped up against a wall and moaning incoherently. Blood had run out of both ears and down his neck – his nose was bleeding also. Sprick got to him first and put an arm around his back to lift him into a more comfortable position.

  “Hans,” he implored, with panic in his voice, “what happened?”

  The stricken technician tried to rally himself to speak, and when he did so it was with great effort.

  “He made me do it,” muttered Hans, weakly, “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Made you do what?” urged Sprick.

  “Abort,” uttered Hans, “must abort.”

  Von Brandt looked into the quarantine room and back out of the doorway.

  “Fuck,” he exclaimed, “he’s going to destroy the ship.”

  Without hesitation they all ran over to Hangar One. As they entered, the group found several guards on the floor holding their hands over their ears, being rendered helpless by the alien’s psychic attack. Sprick and von Brandt ignored them and darted straight over to the spaceship, then ran up the steps into the air-lock. Immediately they noticed a change. Instead of the restful blue light emanating from the ship, there was a flashing red light which was a strain on the eyes. Making their way through the ship was difficult with the light alternating between pitch black and bright red, but they eventually made it to the centre of the hull where they finally found Kavkar. He was standing with his back to them seemingly manipulating a control panel. With Hans’ help he had retrieved his life support outfit and suited up.

  Without a second thought, von Brandt took out his Luger and pointed it at the creature.

  “Stand away from the controls!” he demanded.

  Kavkar paused in his endeavours and slowly turned to face them. His reaction was stolid, with the red slits that constituted his eyes barely visible. He shook his head and relayed his thoughts to them.

  “This knowledge cannot be left in your hands, or anyone’s for that matter. It is too dangerous. You must understand this.”

  “But it is too fantastic – too wonderful to destroy,” argued Sprick, “are you prepared to kill yourself to stop us from gaining access to it?”

  “If that’s what it takes, then yes.”

  “We cannot allow that,” shouted von Brandt, “step away from the control panel.”

  Kavkar ignored him and turned his back on them and as he raised his arm to continue the self-destruct procedure, von Brandt shot him in the back. The bullet pierced his suit and Kavkar’s body stiffened, then dropped to the floor. As he lay there on his back, Sprick moved over to him and looked inside the helmet. The alien’s eyes were closed and he didn’t appear to be breathing, so moving his hands up to the helmet, Sprick unfastened it, gave it a slight twist, and started to slide it up over his head. Immediately the wounded alien started to convulse; gasping for nitrogen. Within less than a minute his chest raised up for one last gasp, then he slumped back to the floor lifeless.

  “I thought he was dead,” gasped a stricken Sprick.

  “Well, I think we can safely say he’s dead now,” replied von Brandt.

  The doctor would have preferred to keep him alive to pump him for more information.

  “Did you have to shoot him? He would have been so useful to us.”

  “He was too dangerous,” commented von Brandt, “he would have killed us all given the chance.”

  They were both startled by an alien voice emanating from the ship, then suddenly the red light stopped flashing.

  “What was that about?” enquired von Brandt.

  “I think the auto destruct has just shut down, thank God,” surmised Sprick correctly.

  “Good,” quipped von Brandt, “now we can get down to some real research without distraction. Have you any idea where this drug might be?”

  “I haven’t seen any evidence of it as yet,” mused Sprick, “it could be anywhere.”

  “Well then tomorrow, I suggest you and your team make an effort to find it,” von Brandt’s tone had become menacing, “even if you have to rip the whole fucking ship apart. Do you understand me?”

  Sprick nodded, aghast at this outburst. Von Brandt walked away and left them to clear up. He walked over to his barracks and lay down on his bed, too awake to think about sleep. Eventually his thoughts turned to the time machine and longevity drug. He knew that if they were going to make any kind of progress with these projects, then he was going to have to push Sprick and his team hard. Very hard indeed.

  It was close to dawn when Sprick eventually sat down on his bed. He put his face in his hands, tired from lack of sleep. His thoughts turned to the Nazi officer whom he was forced to work with. The man worried him, he was showing signs of unpredictability and ruthlessness which could jeopardise this whole project. Sprick realised that he was going to have to tread carefully. Very carefully indeed.

  CHAPTER
FOUR

  The Small Things

  The question of nature or nurture? The notion as to whether a person is born bad or created so as a result of their upbringing, will always be a subject of much debate and conjecture. However, it is important to state that when Gustav von Brandt came screaming and kicking into this world at 10:22am on 15th May 1910, in no way could he be considered evil.

  Born into an old Prussian aristocratic family that dated back to before the Teutonic Knights, his mother Baroness Freida von Brandt, had not had an easy pregnancy or indeed, birth. Plagued by high blood pressure and an arduous labour of nearly forty-eight hours, she was understandably physically and mentally exhausted. The child was taken away from her and placed in the care of a nanny whilst she recovered. Alas the baroness didn’t take to motherhood, and days after the birth succumbed to a severe bout of undiagnosed post-natal depression.

  His father Baron Rudolf von Brandt, was mostly an absentee husband spending much of his time in the Wehrmacht High Command, where he enjoyed the rank of General. He had missed the birth but had managed to get compassionate leave to tend to his ailing wife and rejected child. His first priority was to appoint someone to look after the young Gustav and interviewed a number of candidates for the position of nanny. The baron eventually settled on Fräulein Freja Ute, who on the face of it seemed perfect for the job. Her references were impeccable and being in her mid-forties, she appeared to have substantial experience. She was a tall slender woman with her dark hair pulled tightly back on her head and finished off in a small bun. With plain dark clothes and no make-up, the overall impression gave her a stern and overbearing countenance.

  Baron Rudolf stayed for a few days to ensure she settled in with the infant, and then left for Berlin. He would have preferred to stay for longer, his wife was not right. She had taken to living like a recluse in her bedroom and refused to come out. However, with war looming on the horizon, he was under pressure to get back, a state of affairs which disconcerted him greatly. All his life he had admired the British and their empire and commended the High Command’s ambition for a Germanic Empire to rival theirs. The problem was, however, he had seen the plans for war, and knew that the invasion of Belgium would force Britain’s hand, and for a staunch Anglophile like himself, this was anathema.