Hero

by Richard Mann

  Vinnie nodded, and Peter puts on his headphones again as he listens to Jimmy Page’s genius guitar solo, trying to blot out what they have witnessed.

  There is another audible warning: “Cloaking will be engaged in one minute, you may feel nauseous. End of message.”

  Vinnie goes white and reaches for the sick bag. Peter looks out of the window at the fuselage; the skin of the plane shimmers and becomes almost invisible. The plane quickly climbs above the clouds to 30,000 feet, then higher. Peter walks to the cockpit and chats to Kojak, the pilot.

  ‘How high are we?’ asks Peter, looking at the array of sophisticated instruments and dials in the cockpit. The co-pilot Jack nods at Peter.

  ‘We’re at 40,000 feet and climbing, laddy,’ replies Kojak, sipping a black coffee.

  ‘What type of plane is this, I have never seen anything like it,’ asks Peter, his hands on the backs of the pilot’s seats.

  ‘It’s an X-37D. It’s based on the X-37B experimental space plane. It uses a mix of normal fuel mixed with hydrazine, that’s rocket fuel, and ram air technology. The higher we are the more efficiently it works. We will climb to 60,000 feet—the edge of space—and then cruise at 20,000 mph until we get to our destination. In space, we can also use a new type of ion-engine called a Hall-effect thruster. This gives us higher thrust than traditional ion propulsion.’

  ‘Thanks for the science lesson. Don’t tell Vinnie were going into space,’ says Peter, then adds ‘What’s ETA Sirius Base Mojave, Kojak?’

  ‘About one hour, 6.00 a.m. local time. Get seated, we will be using ram thrusters shortly. And use a seatbelt, laddy, I don’t want to be picking you off the ceiling!’

  Peter looks out the window; he can see the dark of space and the stars above him and the quiet beauty of the Earth below. Peter closes his eyes and sleeps for a while. After waking, he strikes up a conversation with Vinnie who has just used a sick bag.

  ‘Don’t know how you passed selection,’ Peter teases Vinnie.

  ‘I’m the best shot in the regiment. Besides, who else is going to watch your back?’ Vinnie retorted.

  ‘How’s your old man—still an East End Gangster?’

  ‘I told you - he’s a legitimate businessman.’

  ‘Why did you quit the service, Vinnie, I had everything sorted with Sir Nigel?’ asks Peter.

  ‘After that trouble with Ratti I freelanced for a bit; 6 offered me a contract in Shanghai, but I didn’t fancy it, prefer working for my old man. I always know where I stand that way,’ replies Vinnie.

  ‘I like your father, always tells you what he thinks. No double talk. He’s very proud of you, he was over the moon when we both passed selection for the regiment. He doesn’t want you to be a gangster, Vinnie.’

  ‘You still working for 6?’ asks Vinnie ignoring him.

  ‘Yes, but Jennifer doesn’t like it. Besides, MI6 and the gangsters—what’s the difference? Different sides of the same coin. But I’m glad you’re back.’ Then Peter looks at Vinnie. ‘This alien invasion means the old order will disappear, Vinnie. Nothing will be the same anymore.’

  Vinnie nods but is pensive. ‘I’m worried about Gill, I told my old man to collect her and go to the safe house; it’s got a secure cellar. Not sure if the message got through; dog and bones are dead.’

  ‘We can try and contact her later, these Sirius guys have great technology. Vinnie, I’m worried about Jennifer and the kids, they’re at home in Brecon. I feel I should have stayed with them—they’re my family for Christ’s sake!’

  Peter gets out his pocketbook of poetry. He found this little book of poems in the middle of the desert in Iraq: Keats, Byron, you name it. He has never been into poetry before finding the book, but now when he feels stressed out, it helps him relax. Peter reads a poem by Keats to himself: A Thing of Beauty.

  “A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

  Its lovliness increases - it will never

  Pass into nothingness - but still will

  keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep,

  Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.”

  He falls asleep again, still listening to a Jimmy Page guitar solo. He is dreaming. He is walking with Jennifer in the Brecon hills; they are childhood sweethearts. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the flowers are blooming; he feels the warm sun on his face. They kiss for the first time; it tastes of bubblegum—they snigger. He looks at her sparkling brown eyes and long hair and loses all sense of time; then he chases her down a hill, and they fall over laughing in the lush green grass. ‘I love you,’ she smiles as she strokes his bald head and looks into his blue eyes. He looks into her eyes and thinks she looks like a Greek Goddess—perfect in every way.

  He strokes her hair and kisses her on the lips, he can feel her heart pounding as he lies on top of her, ‘Let’s get married!’ he says. She nods as tears fall from her eyes. Then he knows he will love her always. But in a strange way he feels that he has known her before, in a different life. It is a feeling, a knowing in the soul, that he has always known her; always loved her.

  But in the distance, he can see a dark, forbidding shape looming in the sky, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

  Chapter 43

  Surprise Visitor

  SIRIUS HEADQUARTERS VIRGINIA

  There is a knock on the door. The president and General Scott look up as in walks Professor Picard, he has a few bruises and scratches but otherwise appears unscathed. He is in his early eighties, but fit-looking. He has a beard and glasses and wears a cardigan. He talks with a thick, French-cultured accent.

  ‘Mon Dieu, what a difficult journey, do you have any coffee?’

  President Wilson smiles in surprise.

  ‘Professor, we were wondering what happened to you! I am very glad to see you. We were hoping you could shed some light on this alien invasion.’

  Picard sits down, drinks some coffee and pulls a face.

  ‘Sacre Bleu, if the aliens don’t kill me, this coffee will!’

  President Wilson gestures to an aide. ‘Get some of that French Roast for the Professor, will you? We have a problem.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The aliens have cracked the code on the F22s.’

  ‘C’est impossible, I made those codes unbreakable. They were highly classified, only a few people knew about it!’ the Professor threw his hands up into the air. He quickly drinks his coffee, then pours himself another cup.

  ‘Those codes are très difficult to change, Mr. President, I will need to change the algorithm.’ Wilson changed tack.

  ‘So, professor was there really a war between aliens and vampires?’

  ‘There was indeed a war—an ancient war, at the dawn of human history. There is evidence of this war from my excavations in Iraq, my research and from my conversations with Cassian...’

  President Wilson is shocked.

  ‘You know Cassian?’

  ‘Oui, we go back a long way. It is a long story,’ replied the Professor, looking distant.

  General Scott looks irritated. ‘Do we have time?’

  President Wilson looks at his general and then at the Professor.

  ‘Professor, please go on, take your time.’ The Professor samples the French roast coffee, and smiles.

  ‘Ahh - that’s better. Do you have any croissants?’

  General Scott seems annoyed again as President Wilson calls an aide. ‘Get some croissants for the Professor. If you don’t have any, bake some. You were saying, Professor...’

  ‘Merci bien. It was back in 1938, I was a small boy then. We were living in Berlin. War was looming. My father had a jewellery business. It did well. The only problem was, we were Jews. Then the persecution started. The forced relocation. We were frightened. My mother pleaded with my father to leave Berlin before it was too late.’ The profe
ssor pauses as he sips his coffee.

  ‘Then the Night of Broken Glass. I remember heavy boots and shouting, so I clung to my mother. My father’s shop was burnt to the ground. Then somehow, we escaped to France to a small village outside of Paris, where we had relatives. We took their French name, Picard, to disguise our heritage. We had false papers made, by the French Resistance. During the day, we slept in the attic. At night, I would read books by candlelight, anything I could lay my hands on really: chemistry, mathematics, physics, philosophy, history, anthropology.’ The professor pours himself another cup of coffee and takes a bite from a croissant. He nods with approval.

  ‘My uncle had a wonderful collection of books. Anyway, at night my parents worked for the French Resistance—they really hated the Germans and what they did to us. I remember one night they came back and my father had some strange people with him, who had helped them infiltrate a secret German base. But one night my parents didn’t come back. My uncle sat me down and told me they had been captured by the Nazi SS. I was all alone and frightened…I was worried about my parents, but my auntie and uncle looked after me.’

  The professor pauses, silent for a moment, recalling the bitter memory.

  ‘My parents were due to be executed by the SS. I have never felt so alone in all my life. But at the last minute, they were rescued by one of these night creatures. I was overjoyed to see my parents again, and my father told me what happened.’ Picard drinks some water.

  “We were held in a cold stone cell; it was freezing. The water in the toilet froze. We huddled together for warmth. The only light was a small barred window. It was dawn, and a grim light shone through, a crow appeared at the window, looking at us. Then two soldiers came and dragged us out into the icy, cobbled stone courtyard, and tied us to two wooden posts. Opposite were six soldiers with rifles aimed at us, unsmiling, uncaring. A Gestapo captain appeared and shouted orders, smiling at us. We looked at each other and held hands. ‘I love you, Heinrich,’ Derica said. Time seemed to stop as we heard the firing squad cock their rifles. The crow appeared on top of my pole and cawed at me. Then faster than I can blink, Cassian and Lucia appeared out of the sky, and landed in the courtyard, red eyes blazing, black wings folding. Lucia picked us up then flew skywards. I looked down, and fast as lightning Cassian sliced off the head of the Gestapo captain with his sword, and then three of the firing squad’s heads rolled onto the bloodstained cobbled courtyard. The rest fled. Then we fell unconscious, and the next thing I knew we were back home.”

  Picard continues. “I was so happy to see them again, I said, ‘Let us go to the lake for a picnic.’ On Sunday, we went to the lake. The sun shone, the birds sang, we were happy, so for one day a week we took the risk, it was our family day. I don’t think I have ever been so happy.’ The Professor smiles as he recalls the Sunday picnics by the lake. ‘Ham, cheese, French bread, it was a feast.’ Picard drinks more coffee then continues.

  ‘But my parents wanted to rejoin the resistance; I pleaded with them not to go back, but it was no good. Soon after, they were captured again. I never saw them again. I convinced myself they were fighting for what they believed in. I stayed living with my auntie and uncle. Then one night, I couldn’t sleep. This creature appeared at my window. He was kind. He told me stories about how brave my parents were, how hard they fought the Germans, and how much he liked them.’ The Professor looks distant and melancholic. General Scott tries his best not to look bored, but Frank Wilson is fascinated.

  ‘Go on, Professor.’

  ‘He always came to see me at night time. He just appeared at the window. I was scared at first, but later he became my friend. He sort of adopted me. I stayed living with my auntie and uncle, but they were poor, so this strange man paid for my schooling. Later, when I was old enough, he told me he was a vampire. I wasn’t shocked or surprised, I had sort of worked it out. He was like a father to me. After I had finished studying, I worked for him, as a historian, looking after and documenting the ancient vampire and alien sites in Iraq, and around the world.’

  President Wilson leaned forward. ‘This was Cassian?’

  ‘Oui, it was my idea for him to meet with you, to broker a peace between vampires and humans.’ The president reaches out to the Professor.

  ‘Professor, we are alone in our fight against these damn alien invaders. Quite frankly, we face extinction as a race, we need a miracle.’

  ‘Mr. President, Cassian likes you. You may not be as alone as you think. You may not know it but the vampires are very keen to help you; they themselves face extinction.’ The president brightens a little.

  ‘Perhaps these are the allies we seek,’ the president smiles, looking hopeful.

  ‘Cassian and the vampires—they are coming soon, very soon. Cassian—he is the most human vampire I have ever met,’ the Professor finishes his croissant and smiles.

  ‘Very approachable—for a vampire,’ as he sips his coffee.

  “There is another one who can help you, Mr. President. We are in possession of an ancient book of prophecy. It foretells this time ‘Flames of fire come down from the Sky…when the Gods come down from the Heavens and create fear among the people.’ That’s the aliens. But it also talks of a warrior. ‘But there is one who will come forth from the Isle of Albion, from Cymru, from the land of the mountains. A warrior with foresight and strength who will travel to the land of the eagles. And he will destroy the demons in their chariots. His name is Caius.’ Cymru is Wales. Land of the Eagles—that is the United States. A warrior of extraordinary powers. Do you know of anyone like that?”

  General Scott smiles. ‘As a matter of fact, we do—a Captain Morgan. Smith from the CIA sent us his dossier. We specifically requested him from the British in return for some Sirius technology. An X-37D took off from England yesterday with the Captain on board.’

  ‘I would like to meet this Captain Morgan,’ says the president.

  The professor beams. ‘So would I, mon ami—formidable!’ his eyes alight with curiosity and wonder.

  Chapter 44

  Alien History

  In the desert in Nevada, a lonely, wooden ramshackle building stands, its red neon sign, “Juicy Lucy’s”, no longer flashing. A dustbowl rolled by as a jet-black alien ship landed quietly on the road outside. Two aliens in black uniforms walked confidently towards the building wearing a thin smile.

  The tallest one remembered their glorious Emperor’s speech just before they left home planet, Ergal Five, to conquer Earth. He was a full member of the Emperor’s Narzuk Party, the equivalent of Hitler’s Nazi Party, whom the Emperor greatly admired. As he was a member of the fanatical Narzuk Party, he was invited to the front of the thronging crowd, facing their glorious Emperor, Herr Herg-Zuk.

  All Narzuk party members wore a black uniform, with a Swastika symbol in a circle, on the sleeve, on the orders of their glorious Emperor. But his armband was red, being a member of—and Chief—of the Narzuk SS, specifically tasked for the harvesting and breeding campaign of humans with Sumeri. They received better rations and treatment than the ordinary Narzuk military, who had a white armband with a black swastika, not red like the SS. His name was Lord Grim-Uk, and he wore a thin smile as he popped a pill into his mouth. Red veins appeared in his eyes. Next to him stood his loyal brother and deputy, Himm-Uk.

  As he was a member of the Narzuk party, he held Patrician status, one of the elite, which meant he was provided with a good home, in the Patrician neighbourhood, away from the stifling pollution, which plagued the planet.

  He also held favoured status for any appointments to senior positions in the Sumeri Government. Good food was never in short supply, especially for the Narzuk SS, even though there was a food shortage, and he could get free holidays in Patrician holiday properties, in warmer climes to the south.

  Life was good on Ergal Five if you were a Patrician, or a Narzuk.

  The Narzuks were the mino
rity elite who monopolized the military, and therefore, political power; fiercely loyal to the Emperor. Even ordinary Patricians, the businessman and politicians, did not get quite the same privileges as those who belonged to the Narzuk party, but nevertheless they enjoyed a very comfortable life. He also had access to the expensive (and highly dangerous) drugs and treatments necessary to produce children, which only the rich and powerful could obtain. But nowadays, very few Patricians had babies, even the rich ones.

  However, the populace, the Plebeians, just withered and died. Some managed to get hold of illegal black market drugs and have children that way; sometimes the mother and child both died of the dangerous drugs, but people were desperate. The children that did survive were small and deformed, and did not live long. He knew the Sumeri race was withering and dying, and was increasingly populated by thousands of clones, slaves to the Patrician and Narzuk elite. The Sumeri DNA was dying, so clones were reproduced from good DNA, sometimes thousands of years old. Their race was ancient, ten million years old, and evolution had chosen their race for extinction. The clones were programmed from birth, in the learning chambers, to serve the Patrician elite, or become foot soldiers.

  The clones were very pale green and had dark gray eyes, not black. It was unheard of for a clone to be disobedient, they were programmed that way, like machines, without emotion. But many were born with the personality traits of their DNA parent, some even had independent thought, but he enjoyed rounding these up for re-processing.

  Behind the Narzuk SS, were the rank and file Narzuks, who did not look as healthy as their SS counterparts, and behind them were the Plebeians, who were the ordinary workers. They had homes near the smelly factories, but they had rights, and if they worked very hard, they could be appointed to serve the elite, and therefore be protected. The ranks of the Plebeians were thin, and they looked unhealthy, not having the wealth or connections to reproduce, or to regenerate their slowly decaying DNA.