First Flight

by Claremont, Chris

  Her eyes burned with this new insight, new pain, and she abandoned herself to the dance. The Captain was with her, and would not leave again. And with that strange double vision, Nicole saw herself cast off her flight jacket, and then the jumpsuit beneath, until she was naked, skin glistening with sweat, eyes bright with joy, teem gleaming as she laughed. She saw round pupils elongate into slits, and the eyes themselves tilt impossibly upward, the very shape of her face subtly change until it matched the Aliens'. Skin disappeared beneath a fine pelt of russet fur, decorated with indigo patterns reminiscent of those on the Captain's body, her hair transformed into a fiery mane. She grew claws and fangs and was as one with the Aliens and, moreover, with their Captain. She was home, among family and friends, she was happy.

  She woke with a start, taking a deep, reflexive breath through her nose, as if to convince herself she was alive. She lay on her belly in the large common room, its lights dimmed, providing enough to see while not disturbing any who slept. Ciari was by her side. Otherwise, they were alone. The room was bare—its natural state—and clothes and instruments lay close at hand. Both she and Ciari were naked. She shook her head to clear it, then snuggled close to the man, gently raking her nails along the length of his back while kissing his throat where it joined the shoulder. Eyes still closed, he returned the kiss, the embrace. There was no thought, no conscious decision, merely desire that both acted to slake. His groans of hunger and anticipation matched hers; there was nothing she would not, could not, do for him, nor he for her. She'd never felt such an irresistible, primal need, nor, when they were done, such magnificent satisfaction.

  Neither spoke for the longest time.

  Ciari broke the silence, his voice quiet, containing a resonance Nicole had never heard. "The Irish," he said, "now have competition in the Wake department."

  "Really," she agreed, and recognized a similar resonance to her own words. "What the hell happened?" she wondered.

  "Damned if I know, apart from one helluva hallucination."

  "I wish I could remember. But it's like a dream, the bits and pieces fade as I focus on them."

  "You were never more beautiful."

  "Then why didn't you come say so? Hana did, what kept you away?"

  "I don't know." But he did, and so did she.

  Another deep breath brought an awareness of a very empty stomach. "I'm hungry," she announced, and reached for the nearest piece of clothing—her flight jacket. "Better look up the others, while we're at it. Christ, what they must think about all this." She aimlessly waved a hand, to indicate their impromptu boudoir. "What those Aliens must think!"

  "Hell, I figure it's mostly their fault. Probably another test." He picked up his flute to pack it away. "Oh God," Nicole moaned, "were they watching?" And she flushed crimson. Then, they heard Hana's yell.

  They were out the door in a flash, Andrei rounding the corner from their own corridor a split second later, not even batting an eye at their appearance, Ciari still naked, Nicole wearing only her jacket. All of them saw Hana racing their way as fast as she could, far faster than was safe, scrambling for purchase on the slick hall surfaces. She cried out as they appeared, but that was all she got to say. A bolt of energy caught her in the back, outlining her body in a scarlet corona; they heard a whoulff-sound, like the sharp exhalation that comes with being punched in the gut, and then she crumpled, her limp form skidding to rest at their feet.

  As she fell, a warrior stepped into view, hand weapon leveled at the three Terrans. Ciari exploded out of the shelter of the doorway, deliberately drawing the Alien's attention. It looked like an easy shot, but the warrior, like so many others before him, tragically underestimated the Marshal's speed and agility. An instant before he fired, Ciari heaved his flute down the, hall like a spear, before caroming off the wall after it. The warrior instinctively ducked out of the way and his shot went wild; then, Ciari was on him. Two brutally expert karate blows later, the warrior was unconscious and Ciari had his gun.

  An alarm sounded, felt more than heard, the ultrasonic vibrations giving them all instant headaches, and Ciari flattened himself against the wall as scarlet energy beams sizzled down the main corridor; the warrior hadn't come alone.

  "We've got to get out of here," he yelled. "You two scramble. I'll cover you!"

  Andrei scooped Hana up and slung her over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. "Marvelous suggestion," he said, "but where do we go?"

  Nicole never had a chance to answer. One of the scarlet beams hit Andrei as he stood up, its force sending him pinwheeling towards Ciari. With a cry of fury, Nicole charged the Aliens who'd struck at them from behind. She knew it was a hopeless gesture—they were too far away—but she made it anyway, part of her wondering if it would hurt when they shot her.

  Only they didn't fire. A roared command over the loudspeakers—from the Captain, Nicole recognized her voice—made them hesitate, and that was all the opening Nicole needed. In midair, she rolled into a tight ball, erupting out of it to deadly effect, thankful now for all the hours of training and all the bruises she'd endured at Ciari's hands.

  She heard a cry and spun around to see Ciari kneeling over Andrei's body, calmly firing his hand gun down the main corridor. Nicole had one foe left to deal with. She braced herself against the deck and hurled both feet into the warrior's face with all her strength; as her feet struck home, Nicole used the force of the blow, plus her hands on the floor, pulling as hard as she could, to propel herself towards Ciari. She could see energy beams flashing all around him; it was merely a matter of time before he was hit. Events rushed by with terrifying speed, but Nicole experienced them with an eerie double vision; reactions and moves that actually were measured in split seconds seemed to her to be taking forever. She grabbed Ciari's arm and dug her bare feet into the deck, hissing as friction burned them, pushing them off the way she'd come. She had no real plan of action, simply a mindless, atavistic need to flee. They didn't get very far.

  Nicole felt something snag her feet; then, she and Ciari were both sent spinning like tops as some kind of living net gathered them up and reeled them in. Before she knew it, she was immobilized, legs bound together, arms pinned to her side, wrapped mummy-style head to toe, and the harder she struggled, the tighter the net became. Ciari was trussed just as effectively.

  Facing them was a crowd of Aliens, led by the Captain. Nicole sneered as she saw that the Captain's shipsuit had been torn and there was a nasty bruise on one cheek. Hana had done some damage before she ran to warn them.

  "Why," she cried as they were hauled erect and left floating. "God damn you, why?! We came to you as friends. What happened to make you change like this? Tell me!"

  The female who'd been lurking outside their compartment spoke up, holding her module out to the Captain. She took it, pointed it at Nicole, then Ciari, then Nicole again and finally, for a much longer time, at the Marshal. Nicole caught a glimpse of the device's face. It was a scanner, some controls framing a display, and on the screen were computer silhouettes of herself and Ciari. Both were outlined in gold, but his was tinged with red.

  The Captain snapped an order, and two non-warrior males took hold of Ciari and hauled him away.

  Nicole called out to him, her voice cracking with rage and fear, his voice choked off in mid—reply, his words indistinct so she didn't know what he'd said. Nicole went berserk, twisting and clawing at her own webbing like a wild animal in a mad, futile attempt to free herself. With each movement, however, the web pulled tighter and tighter—crushing her, strangling her, killing her.

  It was 'an act of mercy when the Captain took a pistol from one of her warriors and shot Nicole in the head.

  Chapter Eleven

  She knew she wasn't dead, because she dreamed. But after a while, after the dreams gathered her up and swept her away, she wished she was.

  Again and again and again, she watched helplessly as Rover-Two vectored towards the raider's anti-matter missile. She found herself actually on board,
sitting by Paolo—she wept to see him, so handsome, so brave—Cat and the Bear. Paolo was sobbing as he locked the gunship's lasers on target; Cat had a wild look in her eye, a crazy gunfighter grin on her face; the Bear prayed, taking this, as he did everything, utterly in stride. Energy spat away from the Rover's belly—and reality went white as the warhead detonated. Events passed in exquisitely slow motion. Nicole could actually see the fireball grow towards them, taking a perceptible amount of time to vaporize the ceramic steel hull and the three people within. Death must have been instantaneous. Yet, to Nicole, it took forever.

  The light faded, the dream ended. And then, like a tape rigged to a moebius loop, it began again.

  With each replay, Nicole felt herself spinning faster and deeper into a maelstrom of madness so intense she knew she'd never escape. She wondered if that was really so bad a thing. No worries, no pressures, no responsibility, no grief—the ultimate escape. Tempting. But then, another presence made itself known. Ciari was with her. She had no idea what brought him, and didn't care, her heart leapt to see him. She reached out but he wouldn't take her hand. He looked sad, vulnerable in a way she'd never seen, as if he'd lost something uniquely precious, that he could never hope to regain. Nicole called his name, but her voice made no sound. She stretched her arms, reaching along the entire length of her body, and he responded, his fingers brushing the tips of hers. Suddenly, though, his body spasmed in agony, the impetus of that violent move sending him into a forward roll. When Nicole saw his face again, it had changed.

  It was human, but another image was superimposed over his familiar features—the cat-face of the Aliens! As Nicole watched, as helpless to aid or protect him as she'd been to save the Rover, Ciari's face faded away, while the Alien mask became more and more distinct.

  Nicole lunged for him, frantic to touch Ciari, to stop this transformation, but he started moving away from her, quickly disappearing into the infinite darkness that surrounded her.

  She felt the dream begin once more. This time, it was more than she could endure.

  She awoke with the echo of her scream ringing in her ears.

  She was lying on a metallic slab, in a pool of blinding light. She was shaking—the seizure triggered by a mixture of cold and fear, plus a purely physical reaction to the Alien drugs administered to her. She wasn't alone. The table was ringed by Aliens. She was naked, but that realization didn't sink in very deeply; she was more impressed by the fact that she was alive.

  Then, memories flooded her mind and the raw, elemental fury in them sent a surge of adrenaline racing through her system, galvanizing her into instant, murderous action.

  She lashed out wildly and the Aliens immediately fell back in disarray—clearly Nicole's onslaught had taken them completely by surprise, and they were unsure of how to deal with it. She pressed her advantage, pushing off the table and bouncing around the large compartment like a ricocheting bullet. She kept in the shadows and moved as fast as she could, hitting and running, never staying in one place long enough for anyone to get a decent shot at her. But nobody seemed to be trying.

  There was a squall of rage from the far side of the room. Nicole recognized the voice, the Alien Captain. At her command, the Aliens evacuated the compartment, to be replaced by an armored warrior whose massive bulk filled the doorway. He carried a rifle and looked ready and willing to use it. Nicole moved into the deepest shadows but had no illusions about being hidden there from him. That suit had to contain infrared, radar and biological scanners that could track her no matter where she hid. She knew her time had just about run out, and wondered what would come next.

  The Captain spoke again and, surprisingly, the warrior stepped back out the doorway, closing the hatch as he went.

  Nicole didn't move, didn't speak. She was calmer now. Her berserker rage had gone as quickly as it had come, leaving her drained, and more than a little unnerved by her capacity for violence; she thought she knew herself better than that.

  The Captain remained silent, it was Ciari who spoke.

  "Nicole?" For a moment, she was too stunned to reply. "Nicole," he called again, a fraction louder. "It really is me, scout's honor."

  "Step into the light," she told him.

  Nicole found herself remembering her dream, and what she'd seen happen to the Marshal, and she felt ice clutch her heart.

  At first, from a distance, he looked unchanged. Same figure, same face, with that slightest of shy smiles he reserved for her. He was wearing one of the Alien shipsuits, its silken material doing his lean, powerful physique almost indecent justice.

  But he wasn't the same. His hair was thicker, an echo of the Captain's mane, framing his head majestically. His pupils were pointed ovals, like cat's eyes—like the Aliens' eyes. And he moved with an inhuman—feline—grace that put his old self to shame and turned even the simplest of gestures into an exercise in visual poetry.

  He met her gaze without flinching, as direct and sure of himself as ever, prepared to deal with any reaction.

  "Oh Jesus, Ben," she breathed, the very softness of her voice revealing the depths of her pain far more completely than any cry of anguish, "what have they done to you?"

  "Come on, Red," he said, with an achingly familiar toss of the head. "Let's talk."

  After Nicole donned one of the Alien shipsuits, the professional side of her brain noting automatically that the garment felt as good as it looked, gently molding itself to the contours of her body while permitting total freedom of movement, Ciari escorted her to a conference/briefing room. The Captain was waiting for them.

  Warily, Nicole perched herself across the table from her, while Ciari moved to a food dispenser set into one wall. He set a steaming cup of dark liquid in front of Nicole, sipping some out of a cup of his own as he took a position between Nicole and the Alien.

  "What's this?" Nicole asked.

  Ciari grinned. "Taste."

  She did, looked confused a moment, sipped again. "Cocoa?"

  "Gold star for you, girl," he answered with a nod. "That's precisely what it is. The Halyan't'a seem to have as voracious a sweet tooth as we and, since their synthesizers had trouble managing programs for coffee and tea, I went for the next best thing."

  "We can metabolize their food?"

  "Within fairly broad parameters, yes. The Halyan't'a..."

  "Halyan't'a?" Nicole queried, stumbling a little over the pronunciation. Ciari said the word with a swallowed growl she couldn't match.

  "That's what they call themselves, Nicole. Halyan't'a—the Chosen. Their home world orbits a main sequence G-type star farther down the spiral arm, about thirty-odd lights beyond Faraway. Their race seems as old as ours, their technology a bit more sophisticated; they also seem to have been aware of us, as a fellow intelligent species, for a considerable while. The reason for that seems to be that, while both Earth and their world, which they call s'N'dare, put out tremendous amounts of electromagnetic energy, their transmissions are seen against the incredibly crowded stellar background of the galactic core. For all the quantity and power of their output, by the time it reaches us, it's effectively drowned out by 'static.' Whereas, Earth, from their perspective, is seen against the vast emptiness of intergalactic space."

  Nicole nodded. "Effectively the difference between spotting a particular tree in the middle of a forest and spotting the same tree out on the open prairie."

  "Precisely." Ciari gestured towards the Captain, who looked utterly relaxed, with her own drink. The pose was an act, Nicole knew; she'd been watching her intently since she entered the room. Nicole had been doing the same.

  "This is Shavrin," Ciari said, the Captain inclining her head in greeting. Nicole nodded back.

  "The closest English equivalent for her title is Clan Matriarch," Ciari continued, "but that's only a rough approximation. The rank indicates social, political and economic status, plus emotional and physical standing. It would be analogous to Cat Garcia—as part and parcel of her position as Mission Commander—being
a Princess of the planetary nobility, a member of the planetary government, a member of the elite economic class and biological mother to the crew."

  "Sounds crazy."

  "To part of me, it does, too. Again, the translation leaves a lot to be desired. We have nothing in Terrestrial experience to compare with the Halyan't'a social system, so any terms we apply to it are inherently limited and imprecise, even with the simplest of words. To us, for example, a tree is a tree. A specific, literal meaning. But to the Halyan't'a, a tree is home and sanctuary and amusement park and hunting ground—and on and on—it means a dozen different things to them, each with its own distinct, unique term."

  "But you understand."

  Ciari nodded.

  "I can guess how. Tell me why?"

  "Shavrin and this ship are the Halyan't'a equivalent of NASA Pathfinders. Her mission was to approach us—Humanity, the Earth—make contact, and, if possible, establish peaceful diplomatic relations."

  Nicole tried to keep an emotionless poker face, but the implications of Ciari's words were too staggering. "Do they have any idea what they're getting into?"

  "For the Halyan't'a—and maybe us as well—it's a matter of survival. As I said, they've been aware of us for a number of years. They know a lot about us. They respect us, because they see in Humanity a slightly distorted reflection of themselves. S'N'dare and Halyan't'a controlled space are between us and Galactic Center; if we keep expanding, sooner or later, we'll run into their territory. As if that wasn't problem enough, the Halyan't'a have discovered evidence of other intelligent, space-faring races."

  Something in his tone made her ask, "Hostile?"