PHOENIX: (Projekt Saucer series)

by W. A. Harbinson

  ‘Yes. He was adamant that similar storage facilities would be found in the White Sands Proving Ground, Los Alamos, New Mexico, and Carswell AFB, Fort Worth, Texas.’

  Dwight involuntarily sat upright when he heard the last named. ‘And we both know what was shipped to Carswell AFB, don’t we?’ he asked rhetorically.

  Bob grinned. ‘Sure do,’ he said. ‘The corpses and debris from the Roswell crash of 1947. Your eyes are gleaming old buddy.’

  Dwight realised that he had been set up, probably for his own good. Glancing sideways at Beth, he saw her widening smile as she reached out to hold his hand and squeeze it. ‘Bob called me,’ she confessed, ‘to find out what you were up to. When I told him – about you working in the gas station and drinking too much – he was as upset as me and insisted that we somehow get together to persuade you to help him in his work for the APII. I believe it’s what you need, Dwight, to get you off the drink and give you something better to do than pumping gas. Please think about it.’

  Dwight thought about it, feeling frightened, but wanting to do it, soothed by the warmth of Beth’s fingers around his hand, revitalised by her presence.

  ‘You won’t have to move to Washington,’ Bob explained. ‘You can be our Ohio stringer. Naturally you’ll come and visit us occasionally, all expenses paid, but in general you’ll remain here in Dayton. You’ll be our eyes and ears here.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Dwight said. ‘As far as I recall, Dr Epstein believes the UFOs are of extraterrestrial origin.’

  ‘He’s pretty open-minded about it, but so far he hasn’t come up with any more rational explanation.’

  ‘You know what Andy Boyle told me during my visit to New Mexico,’ Dwight said. ‘He presented me with the possibility that the crashed or landing UFOs might have been man-made – known to, and protected by, our own military intelligence. Have you told Epstein that?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. I don’t think the time is right. It’s a possibility I’d like you to pursue, but on your own, not through the APII. If what Boyle says is true, it’d be too big – and possibly too dangerous – for the APII to deal with. We’ll have to keep the lid on that, Dwight, until we’re sure of our ground.’

  ‘So I investigate general UFO cases for the APII while surreptitiously gathering information on man-made UFOs.’

  ‘That’s it, exactly. We keep the lid on the latter cases. They’re between you and me, Dwight. In this regard, I’ve no guilt about using the facilities of the APII, since I’ll be helping them with what you uncover in other areas. I need you, Dwight, and you need this work. So what do you say?’

  Beth squeezed his hand again. ‘Please do it, Dwight. It’ll help you to find your way back. Your home’s here, in this apartment, with Nichola and me, not in that damned gas station. Work with Bob, Dwight. Come home.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dwight said, already feeling renewed and excited. ‘Yes, damn it, I’ll do it!’

  Grinning from ear to ear, Bob shook his hand again, even as Beth, her eyes brimming with tears, turned into his arms, where she had always belonged.

  ‘Welcome aboard,’ Bob said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five Rocking nervously in his rocking chair on the veranda of his log-house in the enlarged compound buried deep in the jungle near the Paraguay River, Ernst was feeling like an old man as he looked at the moonlit sky to observe the majestic descent of the biggest flying saucer he had seen so far. Though an awesome 350 feet wide, this transport craft was otherwise like the others: two immense, inverted plates that were rotating around the dome-shaped, gyroscopically stabilised central fuselage. Though not hindered by normal heat and drag, thus giving off no sonic booms or other noises, other than an almost physical infrasound, the saucer was creating violent currents of air that were making the grass and plants flutter wildly, noisily.

  As usual, the native workers who lived in the shacks located around the inner edge of the compound were standing outside their modest homes, untouched by the precisely edged whirlpool of wind, looking up in awe and fear as the immense craft descended.

  Also looking up, and clearly terrified, were the many captured Ache Indians being held like cattle in the big bamboo cages located near the shacks of the compound workers. These unfortunates, who had never seen an aeroplane, let alone such a gigantic flying saucer, started wailing and shaking the bamboo bars of their cages, wanting to break free and run away. They only quietened down when threatened by Ernst’s armed Federales and contrabandistas. Those who failed to respond to threats were hammered by rifle butts until either they shut up or collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.

  Gradually the great flying saucer, still descending, covered most of the compound. Its central dome was as high as the craft was wide, about the height of a three-storey building. The whitish glow of its electrically-charged, minutely porous magnesium orthosilicate, which was ionising the air surrounding it, darkened to a more normal metallic hue as it hovered just above ground level, rocking slightly from side to side. Just before touching down, its thick hydraulic legs emerged from six points around the base to embed themselves deeply in the soft soil. The whole craft bounced gently on the legs, then settled down and was still. Its rotating wings gradually slowed and then stopped moving altogether, as did the wind that had been created by its electromagnetic gravity-damping system.

  Still sitting in his rocking chair on the veranda, Ernst was deeply moved by the sight of the magnificent craft, though he also felt embittered at being condemned to this hellish jungle, rounding up Ache Indians instead of being involved in the great scientific achievements of the Antarctic colony. His feeling of loss was in no way eased by the knowledge that in truth he could never return to engineering, because it was now too far behind him and the technological advances of recent years had rendered his old engineering knowledge redundant. Trained as a military policeman by the SS, that’s what he would now remain as: a hunter of men and prison warden for Wilson.

  Ernst’s bitterness was like acid in his stomach, almost making him retch. With the outer rings of the saucer no longer rotating, the infrasound faded away and a panel in the concave base dropped down on hinged arms to form a ramp leading to the ground. Armed guards wearing black coveralls emerged to form a protective ring around the ramp, then Wilson appeared, wearing his customary black shirt and pants, followed by some short, nightmarish creatures who had a jerky mechanical gait and were, Ernst assumed, the first of the promised cyborgs.

  Surrounded by his own bodyguards of heavily armed Federales and contrabandistas, Ernst went to greet his master.

  This time, when Wilson shook his hand, Ernst was no longer surprised at how youthful he appeared to be. Though nearing ninety, Wilson looked like a healthy sixty-year-old, with a good head of silvery-grey hair and smooth skin on a handsome, though oddly inexpressive, face, dominated by unusually piercing, icy-blue eyes. Like his facial muscles, his movements were slightly stiff, reminding Ernst that he’d had numerous joint and organ replacements, as well as extensive plastic surgery.

  This man, Ernst thought sourly, is a prototype of the creatures gathered around him. Steel-and-cobalt joints, artificial heart and grafted skin. He only looks normal.

  Ernst shook Wilson’s hand and murmured words of greeting while studying the nightmarish creatures spreading out behind him. He realised immediately that they were Ache Indians, which explained their short stature, but that now they were part man, part machine. Their hideous appearance was caused by the fact that their jawbones and mouths had been replaced with metal masks, they were also wearing metal skullcaps, and some of them were dressed in tight, one-piece, silvery-grey coveralls of a material resembling Thai silk.

  They looked, Ernst thought, like extraterrestrials: creatures out of a bad dream.

  ‘Your first cyborgs,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Wilson replied.

  ‘Can they speak?’

  ‘Not yet, but they function otherwise.’

  ‘Are they still human in any sense that we’d
recognise?’

  ‘They still possess fragments of their former memories and reasoning, but their thoughts and actions, even their emotions, can be remote-controlled by the electrodes implanted in their heads through those stereotaxic skullcaps.’

  ‘The metal caps.’

  ‘Correct.’ Wilson glanced approvingly at the nearest cyborg, then tapped his knuckles against the metal plate covering the unfortunate creature’s lower jaw and mouth. ‘Deprived of speech by the lower-jaw prosthetic,’ he explained, ‘they communicate via the stereotaxic skullcaps, which act like miniature radio receivers, operated by thought-waves. As an interesting side effect, their inability to speak is gradually producing in them what appears to be a primitive form of mental telepathy, which may soon make even skullcap communication redundant. This is an unexpected, novel development that we must follow through.’

  Ernst nodded, intrigued despite his instinctive revulsion. ‘And the metal hands?’

  ‘Myoelectric prosthetics, developed by our excellent Dr King, formerly of the Powered Limbs Unit of West Hendon Hospital, London, England. They’re really miniature versions of what we intend developing in larger form for the exploration of the seabed, the surface of the moon and, eventually, the planets: remote-controlled CAMS, or Cybernetic Anthropomorphous Machine Systems, of the kind presently being developed by NASA for space exploration. Naturally, we’re already well ahead of NASA – indeed, we give them our obsolete prosthetics and CAMS as part of our trade with the US – and we’ve installed larger versions of these remote-controlled, steel limbs as handling devices in this particular transport craft. Come, let’s have a drink on the veranda.’

  ‘But how can they stand being like that?’ Ernst asked, as he and Wilson turned towards the log-house. ‘They’re so inhuman. So... hideous.’

  ‘I told you. The stereotaxic skullcaps control even their emotions, so they’re programmed to forget everything that went before and to consider themselves perfectly normal. The skullcaps also direct the impulses from the brain to the severed limbs, thus controlling the movements of the myoelectric, prosthetic hands. As we direct those impulses via the stereotaxic skullcap, we can control everything they remember, desire, and fear, as well as their every physical action. I know they look like creatures from another world, but they’re highly effective as totally obedient slaves and ruthless bodyguards. In the latter context, their dreadful appearance is actually helpful, because it frightens the average human being to the point of paralysis.’

  ‘I was abducted by aliens,’ Ernst said, quoting from a host of recent articles about UFOs and their so-called extraterrestrial occupants.

  ‘Exactly,’ Wilson said with a rare, slight display of amusement. ‘It’s just what we need.’

  They returned to the veranda and took high-backed chairs on opposite sides of a bamboo table containing a tall bottle of iced white wine and two glasses. A barefooted servant girl, Rosa, dark skin gleaming with beads of sweat, poured the wine, then stepped back into the shadows of the awning while Ernst and Wilson touched glasses.

  ‘Skol!’ Ernst said by way of a toast. After drinking, he wiped sweat from his forehead – how he loathed this constant heat! – then cast his gaze over the immense flying saucer, which practically filled the whole clearing and towered above him like a cathedral of pure, seamless steel. He then studied the nightmarish creatures, the cyborgs, forming a protective cordon just below him, facing his armed Federales and contrabandistas. His native workers, he noticed, were also staring at the cyborgs, their eyes wide with fearful fascination.

  ‘They’re merely prototypes,’ Wilson explained, noting Ernst’s interest. ‘Soon they’ll be even more advanced. As far as these cyborgs go, what you see is what they are: restructured breathing and digestive systems, implanted skulls and myoelectric hands. They’re fed intravenously, which gives us yet another hold over them. However, in later models, to be used for long-term undersea and space exploration, while the kidneys, lungs and original intestines will remain, they’ll be strengthened and supported by a two-chamber pacemaker. Advanced prosthetic joint replacements have already been perfected – indeed, I have some myself – and will help defeat the rigours of the ocean bed and extended journeys through outer space. Soon, with our latest innovation – an electronic larynx – they’ll be able to speak as well, though we’ll reserve that privilege for the few, as we wish to encourage the evolution of mental telepathy in the speechless. As for the larger CAMS installed in this particular transport craft – watch!’

  Wilson aimed a small, hand-held device at the front of the enormous saucer, then pressed a button. A bass humming sound emanated from the craft and the ramp leading from its base to the ground was pulled up automatically to form a sealed door. As soon as the door closed, another section of the base was lowered on hydraulic supports to form a much wider, brilliantly illuminated ramp between the interior of the saucer and the ground. Two smaller panels hidden in the otherwise seamless upper surface of the saucer then opened to emit beams of an even more dazzling light that converged on Ernst’s jeep, parked close to the saucer’s nearest edge. The beams of light flickered so rapidly, they hurt Ernst’s eyes, but then, to his amazement, the parked jeep was pulled forward, as if the beams of lights were chains. When the jeep was about ten yards from the wide ramp, a CAM consisting of extendable arms and steel platform emerged from inside the saucer to pick up the vehicle and draw it up the ramp, into the saucer. When the jeep had vanished inside, the beams of light blinked out, the panels closed, and the ramp withdrew until the base of the saucer was sealed again.

  ‘A form of magnetism created by powerful electrical forces in the laser beams drew the jeep towards the remote-controlled grips of the CAMS,’ Wilson explained, ‘allowing it to take hold of the vehicle and draw it up into the saucer. When the uninitiated find this happening to their own cars, they assume it’s some kind of miracle – or the highly advanced paraphysical activity of extraterrestrials. As with the appearance of the cyborgs, their terror makes them easier to handle if we wish to abduct them. Do you want your jeep back?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Ernst replied, suitably impressed.

  Wilson pressed a button on his remote-control and the previous process was reversed, with the base of the saucer dropping down to form a ramp and the CAM pushing the jeep out on its extending arms and steel platform, to deposit it back on the ground. Then the ramp was withdrawn back up into the saucer and again became a sealed door in the base.

  ‘We’ve made even greater advances in our strobe-light and laser-beam technology,’ Wilson said, speaking academically, without the slightest trace of pride in his voice – just doing his job. ‘Now we’re using wave-lengths and rhythmic patterns that temporarily freeze skeletal muscles or certain nerves, thus producing either paralysis or a trance-like condition. Observe!’

  Some of the captured Ache Indians were still wailing in terror in the cages near the shacks of the compound workers. When Wilson activated his remote control, another small panel facing the cages opened in the sloping top-body of the saucer. A dazzling beam of light shot out, like a spotlight, and wandered across the clearing until it illuminated the cage from which most of the wailing was coming from. Once caught in the beam of light, the captured Indians became even more vocal in their panic, but when the beam of light started flickering on and off rapidly, like a strobe light, turning the clearing into a bizarre, slow-motion movie, the Indians caught in it not only fell silent but began collapsing and falling against each other, until eventually all of them were unconscious. When Wilson then turned off the flickering beam of light, the Indians regained consciousness, picking themselves up off the floor of the cage and glancing around them as if in a daze.

  ‘As we learn more about the wave patterns of the brain,’ Wilson explained, ‘so we learn that most emotions – fear and anger, docility, even self-hatred – can be released by exposing the subject to the stimuli of strobe lights flickering in one of the four basic rhythmic patterns: alpha
, beta, delta, and theta. In doing this, we can induce just about every kind of condition, from drowsiness, dizziness, mesmerism, or psychological paralysis, to epileptic or other violent seizures. Indeed, by combining strobe lights flickering in the alpha-rhythm range, between eight and twelve cycles per second, with infrasounds, we can cause an epileptic seizure in the human subject

  – as you can see. Recently we perfected this to the point where we can force a subject to turn against himself in the ultimate manner. Observe, Ernst.’

  This time, when the beam of light shot out of the saucer and began flickering on and off at a blinding, disorientating rate, while making what was, to Ernst, a barely discernible, though oddly physical, sound, it picked out one of Ernst’s compound workers. The man, wearing only a loin cloth and with a machete strapped to his waist, initially stepped back, dazzled, and started covering his eyes with one hand. However, before his hand reached his forehead, it started trembling violently, as did his whole body, then he screamed, clasped his head in his hands, and fell to his knees. Trembling even more violently, shaking his head from side to side as if in terrible pain, he collapsed to the ground, went into a fit, then managed to clamber back to his knees and remove the gleaming machete from his belt.

  In the rapid flickering of the light, all his movements appeared to be in slow motion, as if in devilish pantomime – an illusion that rendered even more horrible what happened next.

  Releasing another scream of anguish, the man shook his head violently again, then reversed the machete and rapidly slashed his own stomach open. Even as his entrails spilled out, he was hacking at himself again, repeatedly, dementedly, and kept doing so until he toppled sideways, to lie still in the flattened, blood-soaked grass.

  Some friends, including a woman, possibly his wife, wailed in grief and fear, then bent down to examine the dead man as the flickering strobe light blinked out, returning the night to star-draped darkness.