“Good,” the President said. “Are the missiles fit for service?”
“We believe that our modifications to the seeker heads will ensure that they are capable of tracking the alien craft, no matter what tricks they pull,” Cunningham informed him. “They should always be capable of remaining locked on, heading right for their targets. That won’t stop the bastards from simply outrunning them, but if fired from close range they shouldn't have time to react.”
He shrugged. “Besides, we don’t need to chase them out over the Atlantic,” he added. “They have to come to us to win.”
The President nodded, grimly. That had been true of the alien craft attacking America too – and they’d still won. After 9/11, the American air defence network had been massively upgraded. He doubted the British network was anything like as capable.
But our advanced technology wasn’t a match for the aliens, he thought, coldly. Perhaps a more low-tech solution will carry the day.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Near Area 52, Nevada, USA
Day 235
There were, Abigail had decided, better people to spend a few days imprisoned in a small room with than an alien doctor. Nicolas, for example, or even a random man or woman from her career. The alien made a very odd travelling companion.
Parts of the trip had been interesting, she was prepared to admit. She’d learned a great deal about the alien society, although she had a feeling that she was missing some of the subtle points. A human could aspire to be President if they happened to be born in America – or a rich man, or whatever else they wanted to be. An alien born to a particular caste didn't seem to look for a way to rise above that caste’s limitations, or even seek to better himself. It just didn't make sense from a human point of view.
She’d wondered if the aliens had the same problems as the Russian communists – the rewards for hard work were very hard to get – but her attempt to explain it to Theta met with blank incomprehension. The more she probed away at alien society, the more she thought that their government was a form of paternalistic communism, at least in human terms. It might not be possible for a human to thoroughly comprehend it, although it might explain why the aliens had taken over the care and feeding of millions of Americans and Arabs in the occupied zones. Their leadership felt a certain kind of noble obligation towards their subject populations.
At night, when she’d slept, the alien had just sat there, unblinkingly. Abigail doubted that the alien was aware of the effect he was having on her, but it still bothered her to know that alien eyes were watching her throughout the night. In the end, she’d had to ask Theta to lie down on the other bunk bed, even though the alien didn't seem to need to lie down to sleep. Abigail had heard of humans sleeping while standing upright, but she’d never seen it in real life. The aliens, on the other hand, seemed to sleep in any position. She wondered, absently, if they ever just stopped for a nap in the middle of the day.
It was a relief when the truck finally rattled to a stop for more than a few minutes. According to the briefing, they had paperwork that should get them through any checkpoint, provided that it wasn't manned by the Walking Dead. Abigail hadn't been able to help feeling nervous every time they’d stopped, even though the alien had – as usual – showed no reaction. She was quite prepared to hate the alien for feeling nothing; if Philip hadn't pointed it out, she would have wondered if the aliens even had any emotions. But there was something fatalistic about Theta that made him perfectly suited for a long-term stay in human territory.
She gritted her teeth as she heard someone rattling at the door, opening the locks one by one. If they entered the wrong code, the entire truck was about to vaporise ... she felt sweat trickling down her back as there was a click and the door opened, revealing a handful of men carrying loaded rifles. They eyed Theta with deepest suspicion, barely sparing a glance for Abigail herself. But after several days in the truck, splashing water on herself rather than going for a shower, she had to admit that she wasn't at her best. And she probably smelled terrible.
“Come on out,” one of the soldiers said. “You’re safe now.”
“Thank you,” Abigail said, tightly. “I feel so much better now.”
She stood up, feeling aches in her legs as she walked, and stumbled towards the door. One of the soldiers put out a hand to help her down before she tripped and took a pratfall to the concrete floor below. They were in a large loading bay, she realised, next to a handful of other vehicles. One of them looked like a mobile missile launcher.
The soldier wrinkled his nose as she turned to face him. It was rather more than the standard disdain showed by most soldiers to the media, Abigail realised, ruefully. She definitely smelt terrible. Theta stepped down from the truck with stark dignity and stood beside her, dark unblinking eyes surveying the soldiers. They eyed him darkly, hands on their weapons. None of them seemed inclined to trust him, or anyone else for that matter.
“Welcome,” a voice said. Abigail turned to see a tall dark-skinned man, wearing a military uniform she didn’t recognise. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to process you.”
Abigail snorted, inwardly. “Just get me a shower and something else to wear and I’ll be delighted,” she said, tartly. “But I suggest that you be careful with Theta. He’s fragile.”
The officer nodded. “I will see to it personally,” he said. “And if you will go with Sergeant Cumby?”
Abigail looked up. A butch-faced woman wearing a Sergeant’s uniform was staring at her, as if she could see right into Abigail’s soul. She looked like a wrestler, one of the over-muscled young women who had impressed Abigail’s schoolmates when she’d been a child. Next to her, Abigail suddenly felt very frail. The Sergeant would have no trouble breaking her in half with one hand tied behind her back.
“Come with me,” Cumby ordered. Behind them, the truck’s engines roared as it started to move back towards the doors. “We’ll get you sorted.”
Abigail nodded and followed her through a guarded door into a small room. “Tell me, ,” Cumby said, as she closed the door behind them, “are you carrying anything I ought to know about?”
“Just a notepad and a Sig Saur,” Abigail said. “And a handful of spare clips of ammunition.”
“A wise precaution, these days,” Cumby said. She looked Abigail up and down, then nodded shortly. “Were you alone in the truck?”
“There was Theta, the alien,” Abigail said, crossly. “Apart from him, I was alone. No one opened the truck until we reached here. Where is here, by the way?”
“Classified,” Cumby said. Her voice turned very cold. “I should warn you that any attempt to leave this base or communicate with anyone outside the base without permission is a federal offense. Before the war, there would have been a few years in Leavenworth for anyone stupid enough to ignore some very clear warnings and do it anyway. Now, we’ll just shoot you and dump your body somewhere to the south. There are so many bodies lying around these days that no one will notice one more.”
“I believe that I have proven that I can keep my mouth shut,” Abigail said. “And I’m sure that I know more classified material than you.”
Cumby snorted. “That boast proves that you can’t keep your mouth shut,” she said, dryly. “Now, get undressed. The sooner we start, the sooner you can have a shower and get some” – she sniffed, loudly – “fresh clothes. I’ll have that outfit of yours burned, I think.”
Abigail sighed and pulled off her jumper. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “The aliens are lucky that they don’t seem to have a sense of smell.”
She gritted her teeth as Cumby started to poke and prod at her. It should have been better with another woman performing the search, she’d thought. But it wasn't.
“Don’t worry,” Cumby said, afterwards. “You appear to be clean. Well, clear anyway.”
“Thank you,” Abigail said, tartly. She winced as she started to move towards the shower. “Do you enjoy doing that or something?”
***
Alex couldn't help a thrill of excitement as he peered down the long tunnel linking Area 52 to the truckers rest stop. It had been abandoned years ago, long before the aliens had lost a craft over America, but it had been – officially – reopened by a group of truckers who wanted a secure place to stop and rest while driving across Nevada. The aliens and their collaborators hadn't paid much attention to it, as far as anyone could tell; they largely ignored the truckers until they approached cities or alien bases. It made the perfect place to slip people in and out of Area 52 without revealing that the seemingly disused airbase was still operational.
The alien came into view, escorted by a handful of soldiers. Colonel Fields, Area 52’s commanding officer, had spoken quite sharply to them about the need to treat the alien with respect, even if he was one of the creatures who had torn the country apart. Thankfully, most of the base’s personnel with families had had them taken into hiding before the aliens put the entire country into lockdown. There shouldn't be any personal reason to take a shot at the alien rebel.
He glanced down at the brief note that had been uploaded into the base’s electronic network. The alien and its – his, Alex reminded himself sharply – travelling companion had been searched carefully, then x-rayed thoroughly. They’d learned a great deal about the autonomy of the alien leadership caste, but as far as they could tell there was nothing that should lead the Rogue Leaders to Area 52. But they were still keeping the alien within secured rooms, even if they weren't quite TEMPEST level. There was no harm in taking precautions.
“Spooky,” Jane breathed, from beside him. “Very different from their warriors, or even their workers.”
Alex couldn't disagree. Alien warriors looked like barbarian aliens from a hundred low-budget science-fiction films. They could easily have been humans in suits, if they hadn't moved in odd ways that would have been impossible for Hollywood in the days before CGI. Alien leaders, on the other hand, were truly alien. Alex felt a shiver crawling down his back as he came face to face with the alien’s unblinking stare. It was worse than staring at a spider, or a crab. He was looking at something that was simply wrong.
“Welcome to Alaska,” he said. It had already been decided that the alien would know nothing about their true location. If he was communicating with his fellows, in some manner human tech was unable to duplicate, it was probably wasted effort, but Colonel Fields had insisted. “We look forward to talking to you.”
Jane stepped forward. “I believe you wished to see our medical facilities,” she added. “I would be honoured to show them to you.”
The alien inclined his head slightly. Alex wondered if it was a nod – everything they knew about alien body language suggested that nodding was a purely human trait – and then decided that the alien was trying to put them at ease. He was probably the wrong caste for it, Alex decided, as the guards started to escort Theta towards the elevator. The alien leaders who had talked to humanity, back when they’d been trying to seduce humanity into surrender, had been far more verbose. But then, they’d also had the benefit of countless years of studying humans, including people who had been abducted from Earth. God alone knew how many missing person cases were the result of alien abduction.
“Have fun,” he muttered to Jane.
“Thanks,” Jane said, sourly.
He looked over at the reporter, who was wincing slightly as she moved. “And welcome to you too,” he said. “If you will come with me, we have some debriefing to do.”
“I’ve already been thoroughly debriefed,” the reporter said, a little sourly. “I’d prefer a chance to get some proper sleep.”
Alex tried to look sympathetic. The procedure for anyone entering or leaving Area 52 was set in stone. And yet, given how many people on the base were suffering cabin fever, it would be a small price to pay for a few days hiking somewhere where there were no aliens, no Order Police and no one who knew there was a war on.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said, sincerely. “And once you have been debriefed, I’ll show you to your room personally.”
“See that you do,” the reporter said. She scowled at him. “I’m starting to get the feeling that no one actually likes me.”
That, Alex suspected, was perfectly accurate. The military disliked reporters as a general rule, fearing that they would blab about something best kept secret, at least until lives were no longer at risk. It was, in his opinion, a valid concern – although maybe not so much now, with the only large-scale media establishment in America controlled by the aliens. There were so many rumours on the internet that there was no way that anyone could pick out the ones grounded in some level of reality from the flights of drunken fantasy.
“We have to take precautions,” Alex said, as he turned and started to walk towards the debriefing room. He’d read the transcripts of the reporter’s earlier interrogations, but it never hurt to go over it again. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. The Great God Security must be appeased with the sacrifice of our dignities.”
The reporter managed to laugh, tiredly.
***
Judith rubbed her weary eyes as she saw the alien head into one of the tunnels, complete with a small army of guards. They’d been escorting an alien! She’d never dreamed that was a possibility; she’d assumed that they were transporting the President or perhaps someone else from the underground government. The Vice President might be an alien prisoner, but she had no idea what had happened to the Speaker of the House or the Secretary of Defence. They had to be hiding somewhere in America ...
“You really need to take something,” Clare said. “You were screaming so loudly last night that the guys thought that you were being raped.”
“I know,” Judith muttered, tiredly. “Do we have anything?”
She’d been having nightmares nearly every night and waking up screaming ... but she couldn’t recall any of the nightmares. Her only memory was of a horrifying moment when she’d seen aliens, pointing guns at her, only to realise that they were the rest of the guards, who were convinced that she was being attacked. She’d been half asleep and creatures from her forgotten nightmares had bled into her awakening mind. If Clare hadn’t grabbed her rifle, she might have shot one of the men by accident.
“I don’t think so,” Clare said. She hesitated, then winked at Judith. “Brett rather fancies you, you know. Maybe you should go and get laid.”
Judith eyed her, crossly. One rule she had learned about what her superiors in the insurgency had called co-ed combat – he’d sneered as he’d said it – was that female fighters had to be men with tits. They couldn’t sleep with their fellow fighters, no matter how attractive, or the men would never be able to think of them as anything other than either bitches or sluts. He’d gone on to tell them about how the legendary Amazons – it had made Judith think of Wonder Woman – had cut off one of their breasts to prove themselves equal to men. It was a metaphor, he’d explained at the end, for giving up part of their femininity in exchange for being able to fight. It was a trade-off Judith had made without a second thought.
“I think that’s unlikely,” she said, finally. Maybe there was someone about who would be interested in her, but they wouldn't be staying down south for very long. From what she’d heard through the grapevine, they might be heading east and joining the insurgents in Texas, or perhaps heading northwards to Washington State or somewhere else along the West Coast. “Maybe I should see the doc while I’m here.”
“Good idea,” Clare said. She gave Judith a long considering look. “Not that I’m complaining, you understand, but sleeping next to you is becoming something of a nightmare.”
Judith eyed her, sourly.
“All right,” someone wearing an army uniform bellowed. “You’ll be leaving in two hours. Until then, the diner is through there” – he pointed at a large set of doors – “and there
are showers and suchlike beyond it. Grab some food, take a break and then get back here for departure.”
“Come on,” Clare said, hurriedly. “We can get a proper shower and then something to eat before we have to go. We don’t want to be late.”
Judith nodded, tiredly. The last time someone in the insurgency had been late – he’d sneaked off to visit his girlfriend on a farm, according to rumour – the cell leader had tied him to a tree and whipped him, explaining all the while that maintaining discipline was important and a single slip in discipline could lead to disaster. Judith had been unable to watch after the second stroke, but she’d caught sight of the young man’s welted back afterwards and felt sick. She didn’t want to know what would happen to her and Clare if they were the cause of the delay.
The diner looked like a modified fast food restaurant, almost completely empty apart from a handful of cooks and a couple of insurgents in civilian clothes. A large window showed bright sunlight outside, even though it felt like night to Judith. She smelled frying burgers and felt her stomach rumble, causing her to hesitate. Surely they could grab a burger first – maybe there would even be Freedom Fries – and then go shower. It wouldn't take that long to wolf down the burger and then shower, would it?
“Fine,” Clare muttered. “I guess I’m hungry too.”
They walked over to the counter and were greeted by a man wearing a chef’s hat and white apron over a military uniform. “Greetings, pretty ladies,” he said, in an accent Judith couldn’t place. “What can I get for you?”
He paused. “It had better be burgers though,” he added. “We don’t have much else.”
Outside Context Problem: Book 03 - The Slightest Hope of Victory Page 25
