However, no previous incident compared to that moment, standing beneath my American grandfather’s hilltop observatory in the middle of nowhere, hearing him tell me, with a straight face, that he had an alien taxi in his basement.
Right . . .
Grandpa John may have sensed I doubted his word. Perhaps it was the way I tilted my head, cocked an eyebrow, and gave him a look as if to say, “Have you lost your freaking mind, old man?”
He didn’t appear fazed by this.
In fact, my grandfather looked as though he’d expected that reaction. He walked over to the sleek black object and studied my expression as he tapped the side of it.
The front shimmered and the coating vanished, replaced by a wide, curved sheet of glass, and I could see into the—
I gasped, then shrieked, “A-aliens.”
Grandpa John nodded, and I stared.
It had to be a joke, a prank, but as my rational brain clawed its way back from the depths of the underworld, I knew it wasn’t.
I think the giveaway was the jet-black material turning transparent—far more advanced than anything an old man in the woods could’ve come up with, Grandpa John’s whole mad-scientist vibe notwithstanding.
Inside the . . . thing—I refused to call it a UFO or an alien taxi at that point—were two bodies, one at the front, and another in a rear seat.
Now, I’m not a doctor, but I didn’t need to call Mum to confirm the occupants were neither alive nor human, as both were nothing more than skeletons and fabric.
They wore similar outfits: collarless silver shirts with black trousers and boots. They also had long grey coats, and the dude in the back wore his hood up, casting a dark shadow across his face.
The other alien sat angled in the light with his hood down. His skull had large eye sockets and more teeth than I knew most Earth—non-inbred—hominids to have.
I stood there for what seemed close to ten minutes, slack-jawed, feeling both fear and wonder. Part of me longed to study the aliens, to work out where they had come from and why they’d felt the need to visit our corner of the galaxy, but a larger portion wanted to run screaming from the building, waving my arms about like a lunatic, and call NASA.
Grandpa John leaned against the wall, watching my emotions go from shock and disbelief to even more shock and disbelief.
My lips moved, but no words came out.
A rarity, I know, but come on.
“It crashed,” he said in a flat tone. “Missed the observatory dome by a few feet. It happened before you were born.” Grandpa John indicated the ramp and double doors on the other side of the faux wall. “Dragged it down here myself. Took damn near all night, even with pulleys and chains. Weighed a ton, probably more.” He shrugged. “Built the wall to hide it.”
I managed a nod, then thought again. “If they crashed, why isn’t the spacecraft damaged?” Spacecraft seemed the right term to use, and the only one I could utter without sounding ridiculous.
“It healed.” Grandpa John straightened up. “Their technology can repair itself.”
I pointed at the aliens inside. “But they couldn’t?”
Grandpa John shook his head.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “How can an advanced civilisation develop the know-how needed to travel across the universe and fix their vehicles but not their bodies?”
Grandpa John gestured at the aliens. “These guys are both Jyerool. That’s their species. But they follow the Azurean ways. See their medallions?”
I took a tentative step forward, almost tripping over my own feet, and squinted into the cabin. It had a plain white interior like a luxury sedan, and each alien wore a chain with a pendant in the shape of an octagon enclosing a circle.
“Over half of Jyerool society is based around Bluestone religion,” Grandpa John said. “When they’re injured or sick, some of them will only seek medical help from an Azurean monk.”
I had no clue what he was on about, and I tried to drag the remains of my shattered brain back to reality.
“Why haven’t you told anyone else?” There were over seven billion other people on the planet who would freak the hell out if they discovered what was in there.
Grandpa John motioned for me to follow. Like a baby learning to walk, my legs only vaguely responding to commands, I shuffled after him to the rear of the spacecraft.
He waved, and a hatch opened, revealing a compartment.
If this was a taxi, it made sense for it to have a boot, or as my grandpa would’ve called it, a trunk. But instead of suitcases, overnight bags, a set of golf clubs, and an alien kid’s stroller, there was only a wooden box, two feet long and one wide. It had a circular hole in the front, symbols carved into every inch, and a large glyph dominating the lid—the same octagon and circle symbol from the dead visitors’ jewellery.
My imagination went into hyperdrive, picturing all sorts of objects the box might hold—everything from alien ray guns to a mini rocket pack—and I saw myself zooming over the trees, taking potshots at any dangerous animals that ventured too close to the lodge and threatened Milo’s safety.
Grandpa John lifted the box out as though it were an atomic bomb and turned to face me. “You’re only looking after this while I’m away,” he said in a firm tone. “You can’t open it until you’re twenty-five.”
“Wow,” I muttered. “You keep increasing the age, huh?” I reached out to take it from him, but Grandpa John pulled back.
He fixed me with another stern expression. “Hide it in your room. Don’t tell your parents. Protect it with your life.”
I nodded and crossed my heart. It wasn’t every day you got to see an alien artifact, let alone touch one.
With obvious reluctance, Grandpa John handed it over.
The box was surprisingly heavy and warm. I held it at arm’s length. “Is it radioactive?”
“No.”
As Grandpa John closed the back of the spacecraft and covered it with the tarps, I couldn’t help but glance at the aliens inside one last time.
What had been their mission? And what had gone wrong?
“Why did they crash?”
“Dunno,” came the curt answer.
I followed Grandpa John through the hole in the false wall, and while he slid the crate back into position, I lifted the box to my ear and gave it a vigorous shake. “What’s in here?”
“Don’t do that.”
“But what is it?” I asked as we made our way up the steps. “At least tell me what’s inside.”
“Do as you’re told. Guard it with your life.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ve got it,” I said. He was practically daring me to open it. “Can I look?”
“No.”
“A little peek?”
“No.”
We reached the top of the stairs, and I frowned at him. “You can’t give me a secret alien box and expect me to not look at whatever doodad is in here.”
“If—” Grandpa John held up a finger. “When I return in two weeks, I’ll show you. Not a minute sooner.”
I sighed. “Fine.” Although it really wasn’t fine. If the guy had spent time getting to know me, he would have realised I had a distinct lack of self-control. “Are you going to be all right?” I lowered my voice. “You know, in Cleveland?”
Grandpa John offered a weak, not entirely convincing smile.
At that moment, I wanted to tell Mum what he was doing and where he was off to. I really, really wanted her to be the one to operate. But my grandfather had the same stubborn look in his eyes his daughter had when she’d made up her mind about something. There was no way to convince him otherwise.
As if he’d read my thoughts, Grandpa John said, “Promise you won’t tell her.”
I set the alien box down on a nearby bench and hugged the old guy. “Please be safe.” I pulled back. “Buzz me on the fart phone when you’re out of surgery?”
His eyebrows lifted. “The what?”
“That ancient thing you
call a telephone in your kitchen.”
He chuckled. “Sure.”
I picked up the alien mystery box, trudged through the games warehouse and the observatory building, and stepped into the cool night air. I took a few breaths to pull myself together, trying not to think of the you-know-what hidden in the basement and telling myself not to worry or cry over my grandpa. But hey, he was family, and one of the coolest guys I’d ever met. Besides, it wasn’t every day someone gave you an alien relic to look after, and I had exactly twenty thousand more questions for him.
I prayed Grandpa John would be all right.
As I walked back to the path, I looked over my shoulder.
My grandfather stood in the light, as he’d greeted me when I’d arrived, but this time I could make out his face. He wore the strangest expression. I wasn’t sure if it was regret or worry. Either way, it caught me off guard, and I stopped.
Before I had a chance to call out and ask if he was okay, Grandpa John waved and closed the door.
I shrugged. “I guess if I had an imminent, life-threatening heart operation coming up, I’d be a little nervous too.”
Heading down the hill, I followed the trail of fairy lights through the forest in a complete daze and wondered . . . what the heck was in the box.
Five
I felt like a six-year-old on Christmas Eve times a bazillion, and it took every ounce of willpower to slide the alien box under my bed—remembering Grandpa John’s assurance the damn thing wasn’t radioactive and about to nuke me to death—and then I tried to sleep.
Pppffftttt.
At one point I heard one of my parents come home, but I pretended not to wake and thought about all the alien gizmos the box might contain. Transporter? Deep space communication device? What about some kind of scanner?
Out of the eight hours available to me, more if I wanted because I had little the hell else to do with my days, I got maybe a thirty-minute nap during the night.
Probably less.
After either Mum or Dad left for the day, I admitted defeat and swung my legs out of bed, padding to the kitchen.
Sure enough, Captain Huffer-Puffer waited impatiently for me to let him out, almost hyperventilating and crossing his back legs. The second I unlatched the door, he leapt—well, stumbled—into the morning light and headed straight for the nearest leafy victim.
I made myself a cup of tea, screwed my face up at the cereal boxes—breakfast was the last thing I wanted—and sat at the kitchen table, cupping my hands around the mug. Staring out of the open doorway, watching Milo empty his bladder over various shrubs and then move on to inspect a garden ornament in the shape of an odd-looking pig wearing a bowtie, I tried not to think of the . . . thing under my bed.
I really did.
He’d done it on purpose.
My grandpa had given me that stupid box to see if my weak teenage brain could resist the urge to open it.
He was testing me.
He had to be.
And I would not lose.
I didn’t care what was inside.
Could I wait two weeks?
Yes.
Easy.
I groaned, slumped in the chair, then fell forward and banged my forehead on the table in a slow, painful rhythm, hoping the grey cells responsible for the previous night’s alien memories would get knocked out of my skull, or at least shut up for a while.
Milo waddled through the back door and over to me, his head cocked to one side. He lifted one ear, no doubt wondering if my antics would cause a tasty treat to appear.
Everything was always about him.
I got up and snatched the dog biscuits from the counter. “Here.” I handed one over like an obedient human.
As the flat-faced snuffler crunched and munched through his bone-shaped doggy delicacy, I realised I couldn’t take it anymore.
I had to know.
The clock on my phone said it was ten to nine.
I tossed another biscuit at Milo’s feet, topped up his water bowl—he always got thirsty after his hard work consuming morning snacks, next he’d need a well-earned snooze—and marched through the sitting room, down the hallway, and into my bedroom.
Pulling on a shirt and jeans, I grumbled under my breath. Then I paced back and forth, grinding my teeth and clenching my fists, still trying to fight the urge.
“Two weeks,” I murmured. “Come on, you only have to wait two weeks. That’s all. You can open it then. It’ll be an amazing thing to share with your grandpa.”
I stopped.
Hold on. Is that two weeks from today, or two weeks from last night? Do I have thirteen days left to go, or the full fourteen?
I groaned.
Either way, it would be an eternity.
My eyes narrowed.
If I was careful—like mega, mega stealthy—Grandpa John would never know I’d snuck a peek.
I’d love to say I did the right thing—that I went for a walk, met new friends and the girl of my dreams, had an adventure, and forgot all about the you know what, but let’s get real here. That would never happen.
I pulled the box from under the bed and set it on the mattress. I inspected all the strange glyphs etched into its surface, recognising their shapes but not their meanings. They were almost a cross between Ancient Egyptian and Mayan script, familiar yet foreign, each one precisely carved into the wood.
The box alone was a work of art.
“But who gives a crap about that?” I muttered, grabbing the lid on both sides. I took a deep breath and— “Oh, come on.”
Locked.
I sat back in disgust, shaking my head. “Not funny, Grandpa.” My attention moved to the hole in the front of the box. Can I pick the lock? Like any other cautious, intelligent, well-rounded teenager would do in my situation, I shoved my finger inside.
Instead of a lock mechanism, blades, or a jolt of cosmic electricity, wide grooves spiralled from front to back.
I closed my eyes.
The smooth curves reminded me of a seashell. I smiled and opened my eyes again.
Too easy.
My gaze moved to the crystal on my window ledge.
Way too easy.
With excitement twisting my insides, I jumped to my feet and snatched it up. Not wasting a nanosecond more, I knelt back in front of the box and inserted the crystal. There came the soft click of a mechanism releasing inside.
My heart hammered against my ribcage. With shaking fingers, I swung the lid open.
Six
As I stared into the alien box, curiosity swelled within me.
A thick, hard-to-the-touch silver foam packed the interior, clutching a red leather book about the size and shape of a standard Bible.
Engraved into the front was the octagon and circle symbol from the aliens’ medallions in gold leaf. Within this circle, filled with clear resin, was another glyph. I tilted my head. It looked like a stylised letter ‘S’ on its side, or maybe an infinity symbol. Perhaps it was the number eight. I wasn’t sure. Behind it, deeply embedded, was a blue crystal shard.
As I gazed at the book, more symbols formed above the infinity logo, as though ink soaked through the leather. Then they changed into letters I recognised. A title.
CodeX
And that was it.
“CodeX?” I breathed.
I wondered if it was Code X or Codex—as in another word for a book. If so, that was dumb, like labelling a lamp lamp. Left shoe. Right shoe. Dog.
I craved a label maker but ignored the urge and lifted the CodeX from its protective tomb, turning it over.
Fine cracks ran throughout the worn leather, but there were no other markings or writing.
I flipped it back and examined the crystal behind the infinity symbol, angling it into the light. It was neither clear nor murky, but translucent rather than transparent, and unlike anything I’d seen before.
Then again, I was no geology expert. For all I knew, it could’ve been an ordinary quartz shard.
I thumbed through the CodeX’s pages—each one crammed full of more glyphs—and gazed at them, curious as to who’d written the symbols, when, and what they all meant.
The grandfather clock outside my door chimed, snapping me back to reality, and I thought of Grandpa John. I’d had my peek; now I needed to put the book away and forget about it.
As soon as I returned the leather CodeX to the box, the crystal within glowed a vibrant blue, illuminating the symbol and gaining in brightness.
My breath caught, and I stood.
The light formed a single point of energy and rose from the CodeX. It hovered in front of me at head height, and warmth pulsated through my body, paralysing me.
The light exploded outward, filling the room, and I felt as though I were a part of it, and it of me, shoving the walls and objects away as though they were tissue paper in a hurricane, shattering them into billions of particles swirling around me.
The chiming of the clock faded into the distance, replaced by a low humming sound reverberating beneath my feet, and the light decreased.
I blinked a few times, then let out a strangled gasp. “What have I done?” My chest tightened and I cursed under my breath, wishing I’d left the box and alien CodeX the hell alone.
My legs shook, and it took all my willpower to remain upright and conscious.
Instinct made me look down, and I discovered I still wore the same jeans, shirt, and shoes. I raised my hands to my face, finding my familiar slightly-larger-than-normal nose, dimpled chin, and deep brow, all topped with a healthy head of wavy hair.
I relaxed—at least I was still me—and looked about. I was no longer in my cosy bedroom in Colorado, but in a circular brick room. A single door and frame stood in the middle, raised on a plinth, nothing surrounding them but air.
Mounted to the doorframe was a panel with two columns of silver buttons. I walked up to it and leaned forward, reading the labels. Mystery, Science Fiction, Adventure, Horror, Romance, Detective, Western, Action, Thriller, Espionage, Cyberpunk, Military, Historical, Fantasy, Gangster, Time-Travel, Survival, Crime . . .
“Is this thing asking me to select genres? For what? Is it going to tell me a story?”
GAME SPACE - Full Novel Page 3
