by Eliza Green
He opted for a new angle. ‘Why don’t I just speak to your mother? We can ask her about your new friend.’
Ben stumbled and fell to his knees. ‘No! I’ll tell you what you want to know. I promise.’
The boy got to his feet and blurted out the stranger’s name, recalling his own observations about Stephen’s odd appearance. The Indigene’s use of a human name made Bill’s skin prickle. Other than the polite manner in which the alien had spoken to Ben, he learned nothing new.
‘And you’re sure he’s going to show next week?’ said Bill when Ben went off on a conversation tangent.
‘He said he would.’
Bill reached into his bag and pulled out the teddy bear. Ben’s eyes widened.
‘A thank you for your help.’
He snatched the toy from Bill.
‘Now listen to me, I want you to show off your new toy for your friend next week. Can you do that?’
Ben grinned. ‘I will. Thanks mister.’
The boy ran off. At least the mission hadn’t been a total disaster.
Bill turned his attention to his main problem—Caldwell and Page.
☼
His anger simmered low and dangerous as he gathered his surveillance team in the heart of no man’s land. The area of red and gold-tinted stony landscape stretched between New London and New Tokyo, fifty miles away. The sky was a deep blue, speckled with tinges of purple and green. The occasional floating cloud offered little protection from the scorching sun. The single road provided the only access in and out of New London. A dozen similar roads, and rail lines, would be needed to turn the transport network into something sustainable.
The faint sound of wolves baying in the distance reached him, presumably on the hunt. The biodomes, on the borders of the six cities, housed a mix of resurrected animals from predators to vegetarians and birds. The predators—lions, wolves, coyotes—regularly left the confines of the biodomes, but often returned to the one place where a meal was guaranteed.
Bill chose a spot five miles from New London’s city limits. The predators rarely ventured farther than two miles. By staying downwind of the biodomes, they reduced the risk of the animals picking up their scent. Out here, he could also avoid the ITF listening bugs. What he had to say was off the record.
He faced the group of seven, including Caldwell and Page, directing his first question at the two officers who had almost screwed up this mission.
‘Why did you two disobey my orders?’
Caldwell spoke first. ‘The situation called for more action, less feelings.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘He means doing what we were trained to do,’ said Page. ‘We needed to follow the alien, not just watch it.’
Bill pinched the bridge of his nose and released it. ‘When I tell you to stay put, you do as you’re told. Got it?’ His eyes scanned the length of the group. Everybody stood at military ease, eyes forward. Except for Page and Caldwell, who looked at Bill.
‘We had to make our move before the alien left,’ said Page. ‘You weren’t going to make that call.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard her,’ muttered Caldwell.
It hadn’t been Bill’s call to make. Gilchrist had given observation orders only. But he didn’t agree with her approach. Had Page and Caldwell made the better decision? Perhaps, if the alien showed up next week.
The rest of the group stayed silent.
‘No offence, Taggart,’ said Caldwell, ‘but your soft leadership skills aren’t the right fit for this mission. This is pursuit and catch, plain and simple. Deighton understands, and that’s what we’re all trained for.’
Bill felt his cheeks get hot.
Page interrupted before his anger exploded. ‘Officers Wilson and Garrett carried out a search of the tunnels but turned up nothing. We think it may have exited from another station, farther down the line.’
Bill suddenly wanted a hot cup of coffee and a nice piece of lasagne from his favourite restaurant. Not that vegetarian crap. The real stuff.
‘We do have something new,’ said Page. ‘We managed to record some of the conversation.’
At least that was something. ‘Make sure you include everything in your report. But apart from some trivial new facts, we still don’t know what they are or, what they’re planning to do next.’
‘Next?’ said Page.
‘Yes, next. Why they are here. Why they surfaced. Why they’re hunting and killing people.’ Or where Isla was.
The opportunity to question one of the Indigenes about it had slipped through his fingers.
Bill waved his hand. ‘We’re done here. And this conversation never happened. You hear me? Return to your accommodation. I’ll contact you all shortly. And Page, Caldwell, you’d better hope the alien shows up next week.’
He stalked away from the group and climbed into his automated vehicle. If the alien calling himself Stephen didn’t show up, how would he explain this mess to Daphne Gilchrist?
11
How did it go?
Anton was leaning against the doorframe to Stephen’s lab. Stephen had arrived back ten minutes ago. The military had chased him as far as the entrance to the New Victoria underground station. But despite his easy escape, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
The silicone skin he’d been wearing was now under a microscope. He held a laser scalpel next to it.
Anton lunged at the skin. What are you doing? Are you trying to destroy my invention?
It’s too thick. I wanted to remove a layer of it.
‘So you ask me to fix it.’ He switched to his voice. ‘You don’t butcher my labour of love. You don’t see me coming in here and altering your experiments, do you?’
Stephen dropped the scalpel and pushed the microscope away with a sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just on edge. The target noticed my skin. If he did, others did too.’
Trust me. They’re not as observant as you think. I’ve seen some strange Surface Creatures during my research trip. He shrugged. Easy to blend in. They all look the same.
Stephen barked a laugh. ‘As we do, I’m sure.’
Anton tapped the side of his head. ‘This is where we differ.’ He punched Stephen on the arm. ‘How did it go? You never answered me.’
Stephen didn’t know what to say. ‘Okay, I suppose.’
‘You suppose? What happened?’
‘Nothing. It was... odd. That’s all.’
‘It’s weird the first time, but after it gets easier.’
Stephen didn’t want it to get easier. He wanted someone else to go in his place.
You going again? asked Anton. Stephen nodded. You want company?
As weird as the experience had been, he sensed to bring a second would scare the child and change the dynamics of their conversation. The boy didn’t look like he trusted too many people. Besides, this was his mission. His target. He would see it through.
Thanks, but I’ve got this.
Anton folded his arms. His casual stance reminded him of how the Surface Creatures stood. Maybe Anton had spent too much time on the surface.
‘In that case, Pierre wants to talk to you,’ Anton said.
Stephen eyed his microscope and the piece of silicone Anton had yet to reclaim. ‘Now?’
‘Yes, now.’ As though he read his thoughts, his friend plucked up the remaining skin. ‘I’ll take the skin back to my lab and work on it. How long before you need it again?’
‘A week.’
He cradled his invention like a baby. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Stephen left his lab and walked through the low-lit tunnels of District Three. The rough walls hummed with the different moods of the Indigenes. Sadness, elation, irritation. He felt it all through his fingers as they grazed the rock capable of absorbing moods. A slight tension rippled down his arm and with it he sensed Elise’s worry. If one of the elders was worried, then that meant Pierre was too. It wouldn’t take long for their worry to filt
er down through the rest of the district.
Not all understood the dangers that lay above, but most had some experience of the silent war that had hit thirty years ago. A cascade of bombs had rained down on their habitats, nearly wiping the Indigenes from existence. But an adaptable species could not be killed. The Surface Creatures would find that out soon enough.
He quickened his step, keen to get his talk with Pierre over. While Pierre had pushed to learn more about the enemy, it had been Stephen’s idea to target the boy.
He ran the rest of the way through the tunnels and past curious Indigenes, to arrive at the Council Chambers. This was where Pierre lived when he worked, which was most of the time.
The heavy door was shut. He pulled on a rope that rang a bell inside. Pierre liked secrecy. Elise, his wife, did not.
The door opened. Stephen was surprised to see both elders inside.
Stephen, said Elise with a smile. You’re here. Come in.
He entered the chambers—a decent-sized room that had been excavated out of the rock. It looked similar to all the other rough-hewn spaces in the district. A bookshelf filled with Indigene and Surface Creature literature divided the space in half. Beyond it was a mattress that Pierre sometimes used to sleep on when he worked late.
Both elders wore white tunic sets that covered the near translucent and hairless skin that identified all the Indigenes. Both centenarians looked good—strong. Powerful.
Filled with nervous energy, Stephen stopped in the middle of the room. Pierre, with a book in hand, stood by the bookshelf filled with illegally gotten literature from the surface. He was reading one that Stephen couldn’t identify. Elise tapped Pierre on the shoulder. He snapped the book shut and put it back on the shelf.
Elise smiled at Stephen and sent out a wave of calm—an ability all good empaths had. At one hundred and twenty, she had mastered her ability. Stephen felt his shoulders relax, but his chaotic thoughts raged on.
Pierre, not an empath, relied on instinct to read a room. The stricter elder of the pair of a similar age to Elise looked less at ease than his mate.
Stephen, I asked you here because your meeting was today. How did it go?
He didn’t know where to start. As expected.
A warm breeze danced across his face—a physical manifestation of Elise’s power. It made his skin itch.
Pierre asked, What did you learn from the boy?
‘Not much.’ He switched to his voice. ‘I think he was more curious about me than I was about him.’
Pierre’s gaze narrowed. ‘Was the trip worth it?’
More like, was the risk worth it?
‘I don’t know.’ Pierre’s eyes widened, prompting Stephen to add, ‘But I have arranged to meet the child next week. I hope to learn more then.’
Pierre turned away, his hands clasped behind his back. Elise, who’d been more open to the idea from the beginning, watched Stephen, her brow furrowed in concentration. The warm breeze continued.
‘Please stop,’ Stephen said to her. She looked up in alarm. ‘I apologise, elder, but my body and my brain are conflicted right now. You are only influencing one.’
I’m sorry, Stephen. I thought it would help.
He hated speaking out of turn to his elders. ‘No, it’s my fault. I am preoccupied.’
Because of the boy?
Her question surprised him. Not only could Elise calm a room, but she could also read thoughts better than others, if the Indigene was willing. He must have let his guard slip.
‘I am curious about him, that’s all.’
Pierre turned. ‘Curious? Are you getting attached?’
‘No, elder. It’s been a long time since my parents died. I don’t want to let this opportunity for us to understand the enemy better slip through my fingers.’
Pierre nodded. I wasn’t keen on you attempting this alone. Maybe you should let Anton go with you next time.
His reasons for not bringing his friend along hadn’t changed. ‘I’ve won the boy’s trust. To change the dynamic now will lose it.’
We just want you to be careful, said Elise. Your parents’ death hit you hard. We understand your feelings towards the Surface Creatures.
She sent new waves of calm towards him; Stephen backed up a step. He needed to reassure them of his success without Elise’s influence.
‘I promise I’m being careful. One-on-one is working well. My strategy is drawing little attention.’
Pierre nodded. Elise and I trust you, Stephen. Our future depends on the information you glean. Don’t let us down.
No pressure then.
I won’t.
12
Jenny Waterson sat in her space craft above Earth’s atmosphere with her DPad in her lap. It was Saturday morning and the team at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta’s docking station were being overly cautious—or her friend Stuart was. The overseer at the docking station liked to throw the newer recruits in at the deep end.
‘Experience takes time to develop,’ he’d told her once.
But his delay to her schedule that day couldn’t have come at a worse time.
Jenny shifted in her seat as the memo, received from the ESC that morning, lay open on her DPad. A review of piloting skills was underway and she’d been caught up in the latest round of bull coming from Daphne Gilchrist’s office. Last month it had been an inspection of her uniform, and she had to do a damn fashion show for Gilchrist’s assistant. The young man had been apologetic, so at least that was something. But this month, she sensed this new test would be harder to pass. The memo also said she must attend the HJA for a meeting after her flight—with whom she didn’t know.
She radioed in from the space above the Earth’s outer-perimeter force field to the observation deck, where she knew Stuart would be.
‘Captain Jenny Waterson. Craft 766-C seeking permission to land.’
The communication operative replied, ‘I’ve confirmed your identity. Please hold.’
Jenny glanced at the time. Calypso Couriers, a subsidiary under the Earth Security Centre’s control, had given her a tight schedule. Any deviation from said schedule would surely get back to Gilchrist.
She sent another ping to the operative again. ‘Could you let me know how long, please? I need to leave in the next five minutes if I’m going to make my deadline.’
The operative said, ‘Won’t be long now.’
She heard a clap of hands in the distance and a ‘Hurry up.’ Stuart.
His newbies. Her schedule. This was bad.
The operative kept her on the line.
She heard Stuart shouting in the background, ‘What’s your status?’
‘Just a few more seconds,’ said a male. Probably the trainee controlling her fate.
Ten seconds passed and Jenny couldn’t take the pressure. She asked, ‘Craft 766-C. Am I clear to land?’
Stuart’s voice crackled in the distance. ‘Hurry up. What’s the word?’
‘Just one more second,’ replied a young-sounding man. ‘I’m almost there.’
‘For Christ’s sake, the captain hasn’t got all day,’ said Stuart.
She was glad he realised that.
Then, ‘About bloody time.’ From Stuart. ‘My heart isn’t able for this shit anymore.’
‘Craft 766-C, you are clear to land,’ the operative said. ‘Dock Twelve is available. Set down on the port side of the hold.’
‘Roger that.’
Her deep sigh did little to calm her.
Jenny ordered the on-board computer to establish outgoing radio silence. She kept the incoming audio link with HJA active in case they ordered her to divert. The computer beeped once.
She checked the time.
‘Damn it.’
It was already five minutes past her scheduled drop time. That left no room for error on the way down. She ran a shaky hand through her tightly cut platinum-blonde hair. ‘Okay, Jenny. You’ve got this. Who cares if your skills are under review? You know how to fly.’ Her focus swi
tched to her craft as she readied for the next step of the descent.
She engaged the autopilot and attempted to loosen up her rigid posture. Her pulse pounded, as it always did before a descent. The second memo had rattled her. People had been fired for lesser things. Jenny at seventy five, and with twenty years working as a pilot, was becoming an expensive liability.
She pulled her seatbelt tight and checked her descent numbers. If they wanted her gone, they’d have to do more than look at her impeccable flight record.
The operative spoke to her through the communications system. ‘Strong winds at vertical eighty miles. Be on alert. Looks like a hurricane is building.’
She reactivated the outgoing link and confirmed receipt before resuming radio silence. A little gust of wind wasn’t going to stop her. Jenny shook away all distractions and concentrated on getting this rust bucket to the magnetic landing plate at the docking station. She dried her palms on her military-green uniform, feeling her usual pre-flight jitters surface before the fall.
The craft remained in orbit over the landing coordinates at the docking station. Jenny engaged the thrusters sporadically, realigning the craft as it tried to pull in a different direction. Then it began its descent, dropping into the non-existent atmosphere and through the deactivated force field. The thrusters blasted again to maintain the correct position. She monitored the increase in atmospheric density through her screen as the computer relayed progress through the audio channel.
‘Density at ninety per cent, ninety-five, ninety-eight...’
She braced herself for the imminent drop.
‘One hundred per cent density achieved.’
A sudden jolt and a sharp push downwards knocked her against her seat belt as the thrusters forced the craft into a computer-guided free fall. Thrusters disengaged and acceleration increased as the craft dropped towards the surface. A minute passed and the craft had reached one hundred and eighty miles above the docking station—the edge of the storm.
