by K. D. Mattis
“What the hell is this?” Gibbs asked.
He stepped backward, looking for his vehicle through the trees. His eyes darted in every direction. Even with his pistol in his hands, he felt vulnerable.
“We shouldn’t be here,” Gibbs whispered. “We need backup. Let’s go.”
To his horror, Gibbs watched as Harris placed his hand on the door. It glowed around his hand and swung open with no resistance.
“No!” Gibbs shouted.
Harris disappeared behind the door before the commander could stop him. He dove at the door after his companion. Right as the door nearly shut, he managed to squeeze a foot in its way and push it open again with his shoulder.
Beyond the door, a narrow staircase twisted around. Each step, short but deep, took them into farther down with no lights guiding the way. Harris moved based on instinct, and Gibbs moved based on the metallic clicks of Harris. Every step filled Gibbs with regret. Regret that he didn’t have backup, regret that he didn’t have better gear on, and regret that he didn’t think to carry a flashlight.
When the metallic clicks of Harris stopped, Gibbs ran down the remaining stairs. His feet hit the compacted dirt and he lunged out in front of him, hoping for the best. He managed to catch the arm of his companion and threw him into a wall.
“What are you thinking?” Gibbs hissed.
Every shallow breath from Harris came quickly with no delay.
“Don’t you feel it?” Harris said, panting.
“Feel what?”
“That power. This is the place. The source of the signal.”
“Which signal?”
Harris slipped to the floor with a quiet laugh.
“Every beacon has a signature. I don’t know how to describe it. The closer the beacon is to the signal, the stronger the signature. This place is the signature.”
“Wait,” Gibbs said, stepping back and straining his eyes. When he focused, he convinced himself that he could see a faint light down a long hallway. “You’re saying that if we can shut down the signal coming from this place, that we can stop them telling the Symbiants what to do?”
“They’re parasites,” Harris said flatly. A moment later, he spat to the side. “I know what I said, and you are a parasite. You and all your little friends.”
“Harris?” Gibbs asked.
While he couldn’t see his companion, a touch of the man’s face told him everything he needed to know. Harris shook. He was drenched with sweat. He kept talking, but not coherently.
“Harris?” Gibbs asked again.
Gibbs shook his head and turned toward the faint glimmer of light. He certainly didn’t expect things to change, but he allowed himself to hope that his companion may have just been exhausted and needed to rest. As Harris’s words began to slur and to make sporadic changes in volume, Gibbs knew his friend wouldn’t be of any more use to him. He raised his pistol and began walking, with the barrel of the gun leading the way.
37
The caravan pulled into a massive field that stretched out as far as the eye could see. Knotty mesquite trees and small clumps of brush dotted the landscape, but nothing else. The vehicles ran over the brush indiscriminately and kicked a large cloud of dust into the air before settling into a semi-circle.
Dozens of armed men clambered out of the vehicles and moved with machine precision to pre-planned locations that allowed them visibility of everything around. The helicopters above moved in circles, expanding their reach with every pass. After half an hour, they spread so far that the men on the ground could only see them with squinting.
Far above, a streak of light formed, barely visible against the bright blue sky. In a matter of seconds, it tripled in size and lit up with a flame visible even in the daylight. As it approached, the flames disappeared, replaced by the whine of the engines, which grew to a scream.
The men on the ground moved their earmuffs into position. Half of the men turned to the ship and turned their guns to the craft.
The Guardian touched down within a short distance of the vehicles. The dull thud rolled across the landscape, increased by the force of the downward thrusters ramping down their power.
As the engines cooled, a line of light formed on the back of the craft as a ramp folded down to touch the earth. The final smack it made as its broad edge contacted the ground signaled ten people aboard the craft to disembark. They exited one at a time with their hands interlaced behind their heads. One guard directed each person to a spot on the ground, and they took it, lying on their chests.
When the ten men laid on the ground, a team of guards moved in to cover them more directly. Another team of three men scanned each person. First, they underwent a scan with a wand that emitted a steady beep. Next, they faced a scan from a distance with a handheld device that showed the bones and outlines of everything they carried. Finally, a man placed a metal box over their heads, hit a button, and cast a high-pitched scream at each person.
Everyone took the scans without complaint, as another team of guards moved into the ship. They emerged minutes later with the leader offering a thumbs up.
With the order of an officer, the guards moved their guns behind their backs and bent down to assist the men from the craft off the ground. The rigid display changed to the men hugging, shaking hands, and congratulating each other. An opening vehicle door put a stop to that.
Admiral Kayla Asher stepped out into the heat and walked over to a particular man in the group. Her steps remained as stiff and precise as the salute she offered.
“Commander Cole, welcome home. I’m sorry you won’t be here long.”
“That depends on you, Admiral. Did you keep your word?”
“Of course,” Asher said, turning back to the truck.
Accepting that as his cue, a small team of corpsmen exited one of the trucks. They carried a series of tables, chairs, and aluminum trays in front of Commander Cole and set up the tables for a makeshift banquet. It wasn’t fancy. Paper and plastic plates and utensils adorned the paper tablecloth. With the places set, the team removed the lids to the trays revealing a spread of barbeque.
Cole patted his commanding officer on the shoulder before dismissing his men to eat.
“Sorry for the trouble,” Cole said, “but I appreciate the effort. It didn’t seem right having them come back to Earth without a chance to eat normal food.”
Asher smiled and walked back toward her truck with the commander in tow. “It’s no trouble at all, Commander. But if you would, I need you to debrief me and Captain Reynolds. We’re back in the air in an hour.”
Tightly gripping the edge of her seat, Asher looked over at Captain Reynolds. His eyes moved all over the cabin of the new ship as he took in all the subtle changes in design from the Guardian I class. The Guardian II held many surprises and significant upgrades. Some were visible in the form of additional consoles and command stations. Others, like the improved armor plating, could only be felt in the slight change to the feel of the craft as it maneuvered.
“Clearing the atmosphere,” said the technical sergeant at the helm.
Thrusters across the front bow of the ship kicked on, and the ship changed direction. The change removed gravity from the ship. The straps held everyone in their seats, but a wave of smiles and sighs of relief ran over their faces.
Reaching down, Asher unfastened her harness and pushed off into the air, twirling as she moved. She allowed herself to float up to the ceiling and pushed herself back down lightly with a single hand.
Reynolds followed suit but didn’t seem to share in the joy. His face remained stiff and solemn as he approached the small combat information center at the back of the bridge. He ran his hands furiously over a console as he absorbed page after page of information from the reports flowing in.
“Admiral,” Commander Cole said as he pushed past her. “The ship is yours if you want it.”
Asher shook her head. “Thank you, but no, Commander. Drop us off, and we’ll be fine. Any word on the sec
urity team?”
“They reported in and said everything is fine. I’m sure they don’t appreciate traveling in the cargo hold, but no one’s complained so far. Proceeding as planned?”
“Yes,” Asher said. She pointed to a small dot on the front screen that grew brighter by the second. “On to Ambassador Station.”
The Guardian sat on the outer ring of Ambassador Station. Underneath the craft, a hatch opened, revealing a long, multi-hinged arm that swung out slowly into open space, carrying the craft with it. A burst of gas released into space and instantly froze, creating a small cloud that looked like smoke. The arm retracted, and the thrusters of the ship fired. First, the ship pushed out and away from the station while the arm retracted. Then the engine of the ship kicked into full gear and rocketed it out toward the moon.
Asher and Cole stood side by side watching the information pour in over the live data feed.
“You think it will work?” Cole asked.
“It has to,” Asher said, barely above a whisper.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you only brought one security team. What about the Explorer?”
Asher’s eyes continued to scan the feed. “They were the first to try the system in space. Lieutenant Commander Holt oversaw the operation before helping the Chinese deploy on the moon base.”
“That guy has got to be careful. He’s looking at a promotion if he keeps it up.”
“You don’t think he’s ready?” Asher asked, turning her full attention to the commander.”
The Explorer grew to fill the screen. In the background, the communications technician went back and forth with the Explorer’s crew, requesting permission to dock and exchanging relevant data regarding crew and weapons compliments.
Cole moved back to his seat and pulled himself down using the straps on the back of the chair.
“Of course, he is, Admiral. But he’s a tactical officer on a large ship. As our fleet gets bigger, we’re going to need more commanders of small strike ships. You really think he’d be willing to step down to something the size of the Guardian?”
Asher studied his face. He was right, of course, and she had no rebuttal, so she took her seat.
A port on top of the Explorer opened, and an arm similar to that on Ambassador Station reached up and pulled the Guardian down. Down below deck, a series of massive metal doors moved around. Some secured the Guardian in place. Others connected the two ships together and allowed the pressure between the ships to equalize.
The helmsman turned to Asher and said, “Admiral, we have clearance to enter the Explorer.”
“Cole, it’s your ship,” Asher said. “Permission to disembark?”
“Granted.”
Reaching down intentionally slow, Asher removed her harness and laid it gently back in the chair. It floated back up lazily. She turned to the door at the back of the bridge and lightly pushed off. Her cheeks hurt as she struggled to contain her emotions and hide her delight from the crew.
She arrived at the threshold of the airlock, already open and waiting for her. The rest of the crew filed in line behind her with footlockers in tow. Asher looked back and couldn’t avoid a satisfied grin. She braced her hand against the metal frame of the airlock, her first touch of the Explorer in months, and turned her head to the ground. While flipping on the power of her magnetic boots, she took a moment to act like she was examining them. In reality, she struggled to hold back tears, a mixture of joy and sorrow.
She was home.
38
With every step down the corridor, Gibbs felt the light touching his body, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. He looked forward and back, assessing the situation. Even with his gun leading the way, he didn’t see any cover. The walls weren’t well engineered. Roughly dug out from the dirt, he saw many sags and bulges in the walls. Every few feet, thick timber shored up the structure. Given the wood’s age, he doubted it served much purpose. Still, he stood in awe at the height of the tunnels. With nearly twelve feet of clearance over his head, he didn’t feel as closed in as he expected when he came down the stairs. He took a few deep breaths in celebration of that one bit of comfort before continuing.
Trunks of cables ran across the ceiling, loosely strung in place with Velcro and rope. Gibbs followed the cables, and couldn’t help but notice that they came from a manufacturer on Earth.
The first room opened before him, offering the first real look into the encampment. Empty boxes and trash sat around in massive piles, running from the floor to the ceiling. Gibbs picked up the first one at his feet and read the name, a brand of energy bars, and tossed it to the side. The dim light emitting from the hall at the far end of the room wasn’t enough to see well, but he was able to read various brand names on the boxes.
A box fell from near the top of one of the piles. He turned his pistol to it as it ended in a brief avalanche. A rat scurried out a moment later, leaving the commander shaking his head.
The journey took him through several more rooms. Each was as much of a mess as the last. Gibbs considered turning back to aid his friend and get him out of the area. He shook the idea out of his head and kept moving forward.
Ahead, a rough voice shouted in a foreign tongue. The tones screeched and hurt his ears, even at a distance. Another, much deeper and harsher tone berated the other. Regardless of what they were saying, the sharper voice instantly stopped, and the commander heard steps walking his way.
Looking back, he considered his options. Running back to the room behind offered him the chance to hide but doing so would create so much noise that he couldn’t possibly avoid detection. Moving forward left him vulnerable. After adjusting the grip on his gun, he moved forward.
A long foot with unnaturally long toes stuck out into the hall from a room he hadn’t yet seen. It touched the ground, grabbing at the dirt and pulling the rest of a body forward. Gibbs lined up his shot and prepared for the worst.
The foot pulled back and the screeching between the creatures continued, joined by several more voices. Gibbs couldn’t make out how many. With so many unnatural sounds, he couldn’t distinguish one voice from another. He moved forward.
Gibbs turned the corner moving on pure adrenaline. Instinct took over. The room opened, and he saw equipment stacked on the walls. Large creatures leaped behind cover before he could make any sense of their bulbous bodies. Four creatures were significantly smaller than the other two and all shouted in their harsh language.
A klaxon sounded three times before a white, piercing light flooded the room. Gibbs fell back, struggling to maintain the grip on his gun as he hit the floor. When the light ended a moment later, he paused, forcing himself to breathe.
He was alive.
Suddenly aware of his vulnerable position again, he scrambled to get behind a makeshift column in the middle of the floor. He listened carefully, straining to press his ear out as far as possible without making his head a vulnerable and obvious target. Nothing.
With trembling hands, he silently spoke to himself, reminding himself of his responsibilities as an officer of the Space Corps. Despite his warnings and commands to himself, his legs remained rooted in their spot, refusing to budge.
Rolling over on his side and staying low, he looked out into the room. Nothing moved, and the only sound came from the intermittent beeps from the panels on the walls. The quiet gave him courage, and he forced himself back on his feet and scanned the room with his gun.
No movement.
Each step came slowly and cautiously, as if the wrong move might result in falling off the edge of the earth. As Gibbs scanned the room, he noticed seven piles of dust. It looked as if someone swept flour into neat piles and left them waiting to be discovered.
“My God,” he whispered.
He looked over the panels on the wall. Mostly, they were human in origin—servers that had been taken and repurposed by the aliens. A few items seemed much more organic in origin. Their soft lines didn’t convey a sense of space efficiency in the wa
y the other servers did. Gibbs looked them over and ran his hands over the rounded corners. He shook his head. He had no idea what to make of the equipment.
In the next room, he walked along the walls with his mouth hung open, struggling to process what he saw. Row after row of small transparent boxes. A cable ran to each, which in turn ran to more alien equipment at the end of each row. They grew neon green, emanating from a small, pulsing globe inside each tank. They moved around like a jellyfish, contorting their bodies to push liquid behind them.
He continued down the rows. His mouth stayed open and his expression twisted in various shapes of horror and awe. As he turned the corner, he noticed the edges of the room were much better designed than the rest of the facility. The walls showed proper support, and the room was fully enclosed in an alloy. Hundreds of monitors hung from the walls and showed the same writing he remembered from the alien ship.
“Hello?” he called out when he heard a noise from the next room.
With no answer, he swallowed a lump in his throat and readied his pistol once again. He ran forward, driven purely by adrenaline.
His pistol lowered as he took in the image before him. Dozens of humans moped around, barely acknowledging his presence.
“Hello?” he repeated.
The people stood behind chain link fence, hastily held together and closed with large chains. Most of the people stumbled about, blindly bumping into each other before pushing their way through anyone in their way. With no destination, they turned when they reached the fence and headed back to the other side.
Gibbs hurried to holster his weapon, missing the holster by a few inches on his first attempt. When the gun found its way home, he patted it twice to ensure its readiness. He then grabbed the chains and looked for the lock. By the time his hands ran down the chain far enough to find it, he found himself hesitating.
