Strangers

by Dean Koontz

  Ernie moved along the side of the starship, staring, touching.

  Faye stayed with Brendan, for she was concerned about him. Months ago, he had lost his faith—or had thought he’d lost it, which was just as bad for him. And tonight he had lost Father Wycazik, a blow that had left him hollow-eyed and shaky.

  “Faye,” he said, looking up at the ship, “it’s truly wonderful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I never was one for stories about other worlds, never gave much thought to what it would mean.... But it’s the end of everything and the start of something new. Wonderful and new.”

  “But it’s not God,” he said, “and in my heart, that’s what I’d hoped it would be.”

  She took his hand. “Remember the message that Parker brought you from Father Wycazik? What he told you in the truck? Father Wycazik knew what had happened, what had come down that night, and for him it was a reaffirmation of his faith.”

  Brendan smiled forlornly. “For him, everything was a reaffirmation of his faith.”

  “Then it’ll also be a reaffirmation for you,” she told him. “You just need time, a little time to think about it. Then you’ll see it the same way Father Wycazik did because, though you aren’t aware of it, you are a lot like him.”

  He looked at her, surprised. “Not me. You didn’t know him. I’m not half the priest ... not half the man that he was.”

  Faye smiled and pinched his cheek affectionately. “Brendan, when you told us all about your rector, it was clear how much you admired him. And within one day, it was also clear that you were more like him than you realized. You’re young, Brendan. You’ve still got things to learn. But when you’re Father Wycazik’s age, you’re going to be the man and the priest that he was. And every day of your life is going to be a living testament to him.”

  A fragile hopefulness replaced his despair. His mouth trembled and his voice cracked. “You ... you really think so?”

  “I know it,” Faye said.

  He put his arms around her, and she hugged him.

  Ned and Sandy stood with their arms around each other’s waists, looking up at the ship. Neither spoke because nothing more needed to be said. At least, that’s the way it seemed to him.

  Then Sandy said something that did need to be said. “Ned, if we get out of this alive ... I want to go see a doctor. You know—one of those fertility experts. I want to do whatever I can to bring a baby into the world.”

  “But ... you’ve always ... you never ...”

  “I never liked the world enough before,” she said softly. “But now ... I want a part of us to be there when our kind go out to ride on top of all the darkness, to other worlds, maybe to meet the strangers—the wonderful strangers—who came in this. I’ll be a real good mother, Ned.”

  “I know you will.”

  When Miles Bennell saw the last of the witnesses and Parker Faine filing into the chamber, he gave up hope of employing Dom Corvaisis’ new powers to freeze Falkirk out of Thunder Hill. He would have to rely, instead, on the 357 Magnum that was tucked into his belt. It pressed hard against his stomach, hidden beneath his loose white lab coat.

  Miles thought Leland would come with at least twenty men, probably twice that number. He expected the colonel, Horner, and half a dozen soldiers to enter the chamber behind the last of the witnesses. But only Horner appeared, toting a submachine gun and prepared to use it.

  As the Blocks, the Sarvers, Brendan Cronin, and the others were drawn instantly and irresistibly to the starship, Horner said, “General Alvarado, Dr. Bennell—Colonel Falkirk will be along in a moment.”

  “How dare you come in here with an automatic weapon at the ready,” Bob said with an aplomb Miles admired. “Good God, man! Don’t you realize if your finger slipped and you let off a burst, the slugs would keep ricocheting off these rock walls, killing all of us—you included!”

  “My finger never slips, sir,” Homer said in such a way that he was virtually challenging Bob to make an issue of it.

  Instead, Bob said sharply, “Where’s Falkirk?”

  “Sir, the colonel had some things to attend to,” Horner said. “He apologizes for keeping you waiting. He’ll join us shortly.”

  “What things?” Bob Alvarado asked.

  “Sir, the colonel doesn’t always consult me about his every move.”

  Miles was half-afraid Falkirk had already taken squads of DERO troops to liquidate the staff. But that grim possibility seemed less likely with every second that passed unmarred by the rattle of gunfire.

  He was a heavily armed man looking for a chance to turn the tables on his enemies, but he did not want to appear that way to Horner, so Miles decided the most natural thing to do would be to talk with the witnesses and begin to answer some of the many questions they had. He discovered that most of them had already heard about the CISG, so he quickly summarized the findings of that committee for the others, by way of explaining why the cover-up had initially been ordered.

  The ship before them, Miles explained, had first been spotted by deeply positioned defense satellites orbiting the earth at a distance of more than 22,000 miles. They had seen it coming in past the moon. (The Soviets, whose defense satellites were cruder, did not spot the visitor until much later—and never accurately identified it.)

  Initially, observers thought the alien craft was a large meteorite or small asteroid on a collision course with Earth. If it was a soft, porous material, it might burn up during descent. And even if Earth were unlucky, if the incoming debris was made of more solid stuff, it still might fragment into a host of small and relatively harmless meteorites. However, if Earth were very unlucky, if the wandering rock had a high nickel-iron content, which might eliminate the possibility of extensive fragmentation, it was definitely a menace. Of course, it was almost certain to hit water, since oceans covered seventy percent of the planet’s surface. Water impact would result in little damage, unless it hit close enough to shore for its tsunami to devastate a port. The worst-case possibility was a land strike in a heavily populated area.

  “Imagine a lump of nickel and iron the size of a bus hurtling into the heart of Manhattan at a couple of thousand miles an hour,” Miles told them. “That picture was horrifying enough to make us consider measures to destroy or deflect it.”

  Less than six months earlier, the first satellites in the nation’s Strategic Defense Shield had been placed secretly in orbit. They had comprised less than ten percent of the system as it would be ultimately constituted, and on their own they could not have done much to prevent nuclear war. But thanks to several forward-thinking designers, every satellite had been given high maneuverability that would allow it to turn its armaments outward and double as a planetary defense against just such a threat as that hurtling piece of space junk. Recent theory proposed that impacting comets or asteroids had wiped out the dinosaurs, and prudent planners had decided it might be wise to use the Strategic Defense Shield to knock down not only Soviet missiles but the fate-flung missiles of the universe itself. Therefore, one of the satellites was repositioned while the meteorite streaked nearer Earth, and plans were laid to fire all of its antimissile missiles at the intruder. Although none of those projectiles was nuclear, their explosive warheads, in combination, were believed sufficient to fragment the meteorite into enough pieces to ensure that none would be large enough to reach the surface of Earth with destructive potential.

  “Then,” Miles said, “hours before the scheduled attack on the intruder, an analysis of the latest photographs indicated a shockingly symmetrical shape. And spectrographic readings, forwarded by the satellite, began to confirm that it might be something stranger than a meteorite. Its analysis did not match any of the standard profiles for meteorites.” He had walked among the witnesses as he talked, and now he put one hand upon the flank of the ship, still capable of being awed by it even after eighteen months. “New photos were ordered every ten minutes. During the following hour, the approaching shape grew ever more distinc
t, until the likelihood of it being a ship was so great that no one would risk ordering its destruction. We hadn’t informed the Soviets of the object or of our intention to destroy it, for that would have given them information about our defense satellite capabilities. Now, we purposefully began random jamming of Soviet high-atmosphere radar, dropping bogeys and electronic shadows on them, to cover the ship’s advance and thus keep the secret of its visit. At first, we thought it would take up orbit around Earth. But very late in the game, we realized it was going to come straight in, following the very path an unpowered meteorite would have followed, though in a controlled fashion. Defense computers were able to give a thirty-eight-minute warning that point of impact would be here in Elko County.”

  “Just enough time to close 1-80,” Ernie Block said, “and call Falkirk and his DERO men in from wherever they were.”

  “Idaho,” Miles said. “They were on training maneuvers in southern Idaho, fortunately quite close. Or unfortunately, depending on your point of view.”

  “Of course, Dr. Bennell, I know your point of view,” said Leland Falkirk from the door where he had, at last, appeared.

  The .357 Magnum felt as big as a cannon against Miles Bennell’s belly, but suddenly it seemed as useless as a pea-shooter.

  Upon seeing Leland Falkirk for the first time, Ginger realized how little justice the newspaper photograph had done him. He was handsomer, more imposing—and more frightening—than he’d appeared in the Sentinel. He didn’t carry his submachine gun in the stern attitude of readiness that Horner affected, nonchalantly dangling it in one hand. However, his apparent laxity was more threatening than Horner’s posturing. Ginger had the feeling that, by seeming to be careless, he was taunting them to try something. As Falkirk drew nearer the group, Ginger thought that he brought with him a palpable aura—and almost a stench—of hatred and madness.

  Dr. Bennell said, “Where are all your men, Colonel?”

  “No men,” Falkirk said mildly. “Just Lieutenant Horner and me. No need for a display of force, really. I’m quite sure that when we’ve had time to discuss the situation rationally, we’ll reach a solution to the problem that will satisfy everyone.”

  Ginger had an even stronger feeling that the colonel was taunting them. He had the air of a child who, in possession of a secret, not only takes enormous pleasure in his special knowledge but is especially tickled by the ignorance of others. She saw that Dr. Bennell seemed baffled by Falkirk’s behavior and wary of him.

  “Go on with your discussion,” the colonel said, checking his watch. “For heaven’s sake, don’t let me interrupt. You must have a thousand questions you’d like Doctor Bennell to answer.”

  “I have one,” Sandy said. “Doctor, where are the ... the people who came in this ship?”

  “Dead,” Bennell said. “There were eight of them, but they were all dead before they got here.”

  A pang of regret pierced Ginger’s heart, and from their expressions she saw that the others were equally shocked and disappointed. Parker and Jorja even groaned softly, as if they had just been given news of a friend’s death.

  “How did they die?” Ned asked. “Of what?”

  Glancing repeatedly at Colonel Falkirk, Bennell said, “Well, first, you’ve got to know a little about them, about why they came in the first place. In their ship, we found a virtual encyclopedia of their species—a crash course in their culture, biology, psychology—recorded on something like our own videodisks. We required a couple of weeks to even identify the player and a month to learn how to operate it. But once we figured it out, we found the machine still operable, astonishing when you consider ... well, better not jump ahead. Suffice to say we’re still going through the trove of material on those disks. It’s superbly visual, explaining so much in spite of the language barrier—though it also slowly teaches their language. Those of us on the project almost feel ... a brotherhood with the people who built this ship.”

  Colonel Falkirk laughed sourly. Mockingly, he said, “Brotherhood.”

  Dr. Bennell glared at him, then continued: “I’d need weeks to tell you what we know of them now. Suffice to say they’re an unimaginably ancient spacegoing species which had, at the time this ship departed its home port, searched out and located five other intelligent species in other solar systems than their own.”

  “Five!” Ginger said in amazement. “But—even if the galaxy is positively packed with life, that’s incredible. Considering the vast distances to be traveled, the endless places to search.”

  Dr. Bennell nodded. “But you see, from the time they achieved the means of traveling from star to star, they apparently decided it was their sacred duty to seek out other intelligences. In fact, it seems to have become a religion to them.” He shook his head and sighed. “It’s difficult to be sure we understand this, because even their excellent visual encyclopedia more readily describes physical things than it does philosophies. But we think they see themselves as servants of some supreme force that created the universe—”

  “God?” Brendan interrupted. “Are you saying they see themselves as servants of God?”

  “Something like that,” Bennell said. “However, they aren’t spreading any religious message. They simply feel they have a sacred obligation to help intelligent species find one another, to bind intelligences across the vast emptiness of space.”

  “Bind,” Falkirk said ominously, and he looked at his watch.

  General Alvarado had been moving slowly to his right, putting himself at the periphery of the colonel’s vision. He took another step.

  Ginger was increasingly uneasy about the undercurrent of antagonism between Falkirk and Bennell and Alvarado, which she did not entirely understand. She moved closer to Dom and put an arm around him.

  “And they bring another gift,” Bennell said, frowning toward the colonel. “They’re such an ancient species that they’ve evolved certain abilities we think of as psychic. The ability to heal. Telekinesis. Other things. Not only have they evolved those talents, but they’ve learned to ... to infuse the same abilities in other intelligent species that lack them.”

  “Infuse?” Dom said. “How?”

  “We don’t entirely understand,” Bennell said. “But they can pass these powers along. That is evidently what was done with you, and now you have the ability to pass the power to others.”

  “Pass the power?” Jack said, astonished. “You mean Dom and Brendan could give us ... or anyone ... what they have?”

  “I’ve already given it,” Brendan said. “Ginger, Dom, Jack—you didn’t hear the news Parker brought from Father Wycazik. Those two I healed in Chicago—Emmy and Winton—they’ve both got the power now.”

  “New sources of infection,” Falkirk said somberly.

  “And evidently,” Parker said, “since Brendan healed me, I’ll have it too, sooner or later.”

  “Although I don’t think it’s passed only in healing,” Brendan said. “It’s just that the healing is such an intimate contact. Along with knitting up the tissues of the person you’re healing, you somehow pass the power to them.”

  Ginger’s mind reeled. This news was every bit as earth-shaking as the existence of the starship. “You mean ... my God ... you mean they came to help us evolve to a new level as a species? And that evolution is now already under way?”

  “It would seem to be, yes,” Bennell said.

  Looking at his wristwatch again, Leland Falkirk said, “Please, this masquerade is getting boring.”

  “What masquerade?” Faye Block asked. “What are you talking about, Colonel? We were told you believe we’ve all been somehow possessed, some nonsense like that. How can you have gotten such a crazy idea?”

  “Spare me this charade,” Falkirk said sharply. “You all pretend to know nothing. In reality, you know everything. Not one of you is human any longer. You’re all ... possessed, and this innocence is play-acting to convince me to spare you. But it won’t work. It’s too late.”

  Repelled
by Falkirk’s air of madness, Ginger turned again to Bennell. “What is all this stuff about infection and possession?”

  “A mistake,” Bennell said, moving a few steps to his left.

  Ginger realized he was trying to pull the colonel’s attention in that direction, away from General Alvarado, in order to give the general a better chance of slipping entirely out of Falkirk’s notice.

  “A mistake,” Bennell repeated. “Or rather ... an example of the human race’s typical xenophobia—hatred and suspicion of strangers, of anyone that’s different. When we first viewed some of the videodisks I mentioned, when we first learned about the extraterrestrials’ desire to pass these powers to other species, we apparently misinterpreted what we were seeing. Initially, we thought they were taking possession of those they changed, inserting an alien consciousness into a host body. I guess it’s an understandable paranoia, after all the horror novels and movies. We thought perhaps we had a parasitical race on our hands. But that misapprehension was quickly dispelled when we’d seen more of their disks and had time to puzzle out some of the finer points. Now we know we were wrong.”

  “I don’t know it,” Falkirk said. “I think you were all infected and then, under the control of these creatures, you began to downplay the danger. Or ... or the disks are merely propaganda. Lies.”

  “No,” Bennell said. “For one thing, I don’t think these creatures would be capable of lying. Besides, if they could so easily take us over, they wouldn’t require propaganda. And they sure as hell wouldn’t bring us this encyclopedia that tells us they’re going to change us.”

  Ginger had noticed Brendan Cronin following the discussion even more avidly than everyone else, and now he said, “I know the religious metaphor may not be entirely appropriate here. But if they feel they come to us as the servants of God ... and if they come to hand down to us these miraculous gifts, then you could almost say they were angels, archangels bestowing special blessings.”

  Falkirk laughed harshly. “Oh, that’s rich, Cronin! Do you really think you can get to me from a religious angle? Me? Even if I were a religious fanatic, like my dead and rotting parents, I wouldn’t buy these creatures as angels. Angels with faces like buckets of worms?”

  “Worms? What’s he talking about?” Brendan asked Bennell.

  The scientist said, “They look very different from us. Bipeds with forearms rather like us, yes. Six digits instead of five. But that’s about all we have in common in the way of looks. Initially, they seem repulsive. In fact, repulsive is a mild word. But in time ... you begin to see they have a certain beauty of their own.”

  “Beauty of their own,” Falkirk said scornfully. “Monsters is what they are, and they’d only have beauty in the eyes of other monsters, so you’ve just proven my point, Bennell.”

  Ginger’s anger with Falkirk drove her to take a couple of steps toward him in spite of his submachine gun. “You damn fool,” she said. “What does it matter what they look like? The important thing is what they are. And evidently they’re creatures with a deep sense of purpose, noble purpose. No matter how different they look, the things we have in common with them are greater than our differences. My father always said that, as much as intelligence, the things that separated us from the beasts were courage, love, friendship, compassion, and empathy. Do you realize what courage it took for them to set out on this journey across God knows how many thousands of millions of miles? So that’s one big thing we share with them—courage. And love, friendship? They must have those too. Otherwise how would they have built a civilization that could reach to the stars? You need love and friendship to have a reason to build. Compassion? They’ve got a mission to bring other intelligent species to a higher rung on the evolutionary ladder. Surely, that takes compassion. And empathy? Isn’t that obvious? They empathize with our fear and loneliness, with our dread that we’re adrift in a meaningless universe. They empathize so much that they commit themselves to these incredible journeys on the mere hope. of encountering us and bringing us the news that we are not alone.” Suddenly she knew her anger wasn’t directed so much at Falkirk as at this horrid blindness in the human species that led it frequently into spirals of self-destruction. “Look at me,” she told the colonel. “I’m a Jew. And there are those who’d say I’m not the same as they are, not as good, even dangerous. Stories of Jews drinking the blood of gentile babies—there are the ignorant who believe that garbage. Is there any difference between that sick antisemitism and your stubborn insistence, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, that these creatures come to drink our blood? Let us go, for God’s sake. Stop the endless hatred here. Stop it now. We have a destiny that leaves no room for hatred.”

  “Bravo,” Falkirk said acidly. “A very nice speech.” Even as he spoke, the colonel swung his machine gun toward General Alvarado and said, “Don’t go for your gun, General. I assume you’re carrying one. I won’t be shot. I want to die in the glorious fire.”

  “Fire?” Bennell said.

  Falkirk grinned. “That’s right, Doctor. The glorious fire that will consume us all and save the world from this infection.”

  “Christ!” Bennell said. “That’s why you didn’t bring more men with you. You didn’t want to sacrifice more than necessary.” He turned to Alvarado. “Bob, the crazy bastard’s gotten into the tactical nukes.”

  Ginger knew that Alvarado was feeling precisely what she felt at this news, for his face twisted and went instantly gray.

  “Two backpack nukes,” Falkirk said. “One right outside that door. The other in the main chamber downstairs.” He checked his watch. “Less than three minutes, and we’ll all be vapor. Not even time left for you to change me, I’ll bet. How long does it take to change one of us to one of you? Longer than three minutes, I suppose.”

  Abruptly, the machine gun tore out of Falkirk’s hands as if it had acquired life and taken flight, wrenching loose of his grasp with such force that it cut his fingers and tore off a couple of his nails. At the same instant, Lieutenant Homer screamed as his machine gun erupted from his grasp with equal suddenness and force. Ginger saw both weapons spin through the air and drop with a clatter, one at the feet of Ernie Block and the other at Jack Twist’s side, both of whom jubilantly took up the guns and covered Falkirk and Horner.

  “You?” Ginger said wonderingly, turning to Dom.

  “Me, yeah, I think,” he said breathlessly. “I ... I didn’t know I could do it until I had to. Sort of the way Brendan heals people.”

  Stunned, Dr. Bennell said, “But it doesn’t matter. Falkirk said three minutes.”

  “Two,” Falkirk said, cradling one bleeding hand in the other and grinning happily. “Two minutes now.”

  “And backpack nukes can’t be disarmed,” Alvarado said.

  Running, Dom shouted: “Brendan, you take the one outside this door. I’ll get the one downstairs.”

  “They can’t be disarmed!” Alvarado repeated.