The Mothership

by Renneberg, Stephen

  “Really? I rely on my prejudices to maintain a healthy suspicion.”

  “How primeval of you.”

  “What about Swedish?”

  She smiled. “Swedish? I like that.” The tall humanoids had been nick named Swedes for their white hair and skin, even though they had little in common with Homo sapiens. “According to contactee reports, their language is supposed to sound like a series of rapid clicks, but the details on it are sketchy.”

  “Yeah, because there have been no Swedish crashes. Perhaps their technology is superior to the Zetas?”

  “Or just engineered for safety,” she said. “Maybe our skies are full of Unidentified Flying Volvos. So who do you think owns that ship up ahead? Zetas, Swedes or someone else?”

  Markus looked thoughtful. “Insufficient information, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you can’t read the labels.”

  “OK by me. I’d like to identify a new language. That’s why I’m hoping it’s an unknown species.”

  I’m not, Markus thought. The Local Powers had left humanity alone for two hundred thousand years. His greatest fear was that a newcomer might not be so considerate.

  Xeno didn’t notice Markus had fallen into a brooding silence. “So are you going to do the spook thing, and steal their technology?”

  “In a heartbeat, if I could,” he replied glibly, “But that’s secondary.”

  “What’s primary?”

  “Figuring out the ‘why’? When it comes to UFOs, most people see only the ‘gee whiz!’ factor , the bright lights and the bug . . . excuse me, composite . . . eyes. They miss the important stuff.”

  “Which is?”

  “The relationships between civilizations.” He looked around, watching the troops hiking through the deep shadows of the forest. It occurred to him, it really wasn’t so long ago that man had lived in forests, barely differentiated from animals. “Sure, there’s a lot of scientific curiosity behind their study of us, but there’s also a bit of political self interest too.”

  “Political?” She furrowed her brow. “You think aliens want to rig our elections?”

  “No, they don’t care how we govern ourselves. There are no good or bad political systems in space. Political structures will be as diverse as the civilizations that create them, based on the psychology of each species. What I’m talking about is like international relations. We’re not dealing with cute cuddly little ETs who want to lavish love and affection on us, nor are we likely to face crazed invaders from outer space who want to incinerate our cities for no good reason. One is sentimental nonsense, the other is paranoid fear. The reality is much less dramatic. They’re neither friendly nor hostile, but they will have one thing in common with us.”

  “They’ll watch cable TV and eat take out?”

  “They’ll have interests, and they’ll act in their own best interest. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have made it as far as they have. It’s great power politics. Unfortunately for mankind, we’re not now, and never will be a great power.”

  “Never is a long time, Mr Markus.”

  “How do you catch up a million years? If we advance a million years, so do they. We’re like a primitive tribe of Neanderthals compared to Western Civilization.”

  “Tough break for the Neanderthals.”

  “Not so tough. The Local Powers clearly have no desire to rule Earth, or they would already. They just keep an eye on us, so they know what we’re doing.”

  “So in your great power scenario, where does this ship fit in?”

  The intelligence officer looked worried. “It doesn’t. In fact, if the Local Powers are still in control, it should never have landed. It breaks the pattern of hundreds of thousands of years of peaceful isolation.”

  “So you think it’s an attack?”

  “Not without proof,” Markus replied cautiously. “Launching an attack on us could be disastrous for them.”

  Xeno furrowed her brow. “Now I’m confused. If they’re superpowers and we’re Neanderthals, how can attacking us be a disaster for them?”

  “Because it’s a multipolar political system out there. Lots of civilizations at different levels of advancement, all looking after their own interests. A hostile power would drive peaceful civilizations into alliance against it, which will eventually result in the hostile civilization being crushed by weight of numbers and superior technology.”

  “Like Nazi Germany.”

  “Exactly. There are no Nazi Germanies in space. None living anyway.”

  “But would attacking Earth cause an alliance? We don’t know anyone, we have no friends.”

  “We don’t know them, but they’ve spent millennia getting to know us. Thousands of civilizations must know we exist, and have us catalogued in their libraries. We’re an oddity, savage by their standards, but with as much right to exist on our homeworld as anyone else. Attacking us would attract great powers who might consider their interests are next, or who might simply feel a moral responsibility to protect helpless primitives like us. In a multipolar system, it doesn’t make sense for anyone to attack us.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “In case I’m wrong.”

  * * * *

  “Contact.” Cougar’s voice sounded calmly from their ear pieces. “Two o’clock.”

  The troops immediately dropped flat to the ground, bringing their weapons to bear as they strained to see what Cougar had spotted. Only Dr McInness remained standing, staring curiously ahead.

  “It’s a metallic silver vehicle, highly reflective, no sound,” Cougar reported as he peered through his telescopic sight. “Can’t make out its size or shape.”

  Beckman dragged Dr McInness to the ground with a glare. “Stay here. Keep your head down.”

  “We should approach without weapons,” the scientist said. “We must try to make peaceful contact.”

  “I’ll give them every opportunity,” Beckman said, then started creeping towards Cougar’s position.

  Off to the right, Vamp produced a small spherical device from one of the pouches on her equipment belt. It was meant for a hand slightly smaller than hers, and while its power source was unknown, experiments had proven it was amazingly accurate at detecting refined metals out to three clicks. She touched the activation surface, then scaled the range down to the lowest setting. The device’s dull metal surface changed from silver to light blue. Twelve black pin points representing the contact team appeared near a much larger black dot representing the object Cougar had spotted. Small angular symbols appeared on the screen beside each dot. Xeno had taught Vamp the meaning of some of the symbols, representing range, velocity and heading, but there were other symbols whose meanings were unknown. They called it the crystal ball, even though it wasn’t crystal. It was the size of a baseball with the top third cut away, revealing a flat viewing surface. A woman had been selected to operate it because her smaller hands were more suited to its controls than a man’s.

  “I’m picking up a large object,” Vamp reported, “Fifty meters ahead.”

  Nuke fell back to the rear to join Hooper. If the force was wiped out, they would try to report back. Xeno followed Beckman, in case she was needed to translate, while Markus crept forward alone for a closer look. Tucker and Steamer took up positions in the center of the team, five meters apart, where they could provide heavy weapons fire support, if required.

  “Movement?” Beckman asked.

  “None,” Vamp replied in a low voice.

  “Confirmed,” Cougar added, watching the craft through his sniper rifle’s telescopic sight. It was partially obscured by trees, underbrush and a small rock outcrop rising out of the red earth. “It’s just sitting there.” He twisted his rifle’s Leupold scope to full magnification. “It’s got smooth metal skin, no joins or edges. Looks like one piece–” He stopped abruptly and slowly swept his rifle left and right, searching.

  Beckman crouched down at Cougar’s sudden silence. “Cougar?”

  “It disappeared. On
e second it was there, next it was gone.”

  “It might have detected us, and gone invisible,” Xeno suggested.

  Vamp scaled the range on the crystal ball out to maximum. “I got nothing.”

  “Excuse me,” Dr McInness called, standing up and walking forward, waving his hand to attract Beckman’s attention, oblivious to any danger. “It’s not invisible.”

  “Get down,” Beckman ordered, “The area is not clear.”

  “Yes it is! See?” He waved his arms up in the air, offering himself as a target. “Here I am! Over here!” After a moment, he stopped, arms out. “See? No danger.”

  Hooper cursed to himself, jumped to his feet and ran forward crouched below the level of the foliage toward the scientist. Before Dr McInness could call out again, Hooper tackled him to the ground, wrapping a hand over his mouth, preventing him from speaking. Dr McInness struggled vainly against Hooper’s overpowering strength, indignant and astonished at being forced to the ground.

  Cougar studied the area where the craft had been, finding no sign of the blurring effect they’d been trained to detect. “No stealth field. Looks clear.”

  Markus crept forward through the underbrush to the right of Beckman’s position. He halted when the clearing was in plain view. “They’re right, it’s gone.”

  Beckman saw Markus studying the area through his binoculars, irritated that he too disobeyed orders. Can’t trust either of them! “Stand down,” he said as he headed back to where Hooper restrained the scientist. When Hooper saw Beckman approach, he released Dr McInness, who rolled clear then turned to face the sergeant.

  “What are you doing?” The scientist demanded angrily as he stood up brushing dirt and leaves from his clothes.

  Hooper ignored him, giving Beckman a pained look. “I took my eyes off him for a few seconds…”

  Beckman gave Hooper an understanding nod, then turned his attention on the scientist. “What do you not understand about staying in cover until the area is clear?”

  “But Major, it was clear. That’s what I was trying to tell you. There was nothing there!”

  “You gave away our position. Next time, you hear ‘contact’, your face better be in the dirt. You weren’t sent on this mission to get killed for being a fool. Or worse, get us killed!”

  “That’s a relief, Major, because I don’t wish to die, but it was obvious what happened.”

  “Was it?”

  “It flew away when it detected our approach.”

  “It didn’t take off,” Beckman said. “I was watching. It just disappeared.”

  “No!” the scientist insisted. “It took off so fast you couldn’t see it leave with the naked eye. If we’d had a high-speed camera filming it, then played the film back in slow motion, you’d see it take off. Their vehicles obey the laws of physics, just like ours do, but in a much more advanced way.”

  “It could have activated a stealth field,” Beckman said.

  “Yes, but it didn’t. We’d already seen it.” Dr McInness motioned toward Beckman’s troops. “Your men are heavily armed, Major. Your weapons aren’t as advanced as theirs, but you can still hurt them. That’s why they left.”

  Beckman looked exasperated. “If you disobey my orders again, I’ll tie you to a tree myself, and pick you up on the way out.”

  Dr McInness eyes widened in surprise. “You wouldn’t do that!”

  “Try me.”

  “Major,” Cougar’s voice sounded over the radio. “I’ve got something.”

  Beckman saw Cougar was in bright sunlight in the clearing where the craft had been. Markus was already prowling around there, eyes scouring the ground.

  Beckman thumbed his mike, “On my way.”

  “Ah, Major?” Dr McInness said uncertainly. When Beckman gave him a curious looked, he added, “May I come too?”

  Beckman sighed, and nodded. “OK. Whatever happened, they’re gone now,” He said, then hurried to Cougar’s position, with Dr McInness scurrying to keep up while the rest of the team stayed under cover. When he stepped into the clearing, he discovered the trees and plants had been knocked down in a clockwise pattern, crushed by a powerful rotating force.

  Dr McInness studied the pattern without surprise. The plants had been pushed into the ground, without damage to their fibers, which contact with a physical object would have caused. “This effect’s consistent with field propulsion technology.”

  Markus knelt and examined a twenty centimeter square indentation in the ground. He’d quartered the ground and found three such marks. “It was eight hundred to a thousand tons. Twenty-five to thirty meters across.”

  Beckman gave him a surprised look. “You can tell that, just by looking at that hole in the ground?”

  “We’ve done a lot of analysis on landing sites,” Markus said. “We’d need to study the exact depth of the indentations and soil composition to work out a more accurate figure.”

  Cougar waited patiently at the center of the clearing. He stood beside a smoothly bored circular shaft ten centimeters across. Its sides were fused, although there was no evidence of heat having been applied.

  Beckman turned to Dr McInness. “Do you know what this is?”

  The scientist peered into the borehole curiously. “No, I’ve never heard of them conducting this kind of experiment before.”

  “Markus?” Beckman asked.

  The intelligence agent shook his head. “Beats me.”

  Beckman produced a flare, glanced at his watch, then dropped it in. The flare lit up the walls as it fell, occasionally glancing off the sides.

  “Thirty seconds,” Beckman announced as the flare had reduced to a pinpoint of light.

  Cougar aimed his telescopic sight into the borehole. “Can’t tell if it’s hit bottom or not.”

  A moment later, the flare died.

  “I need to take some readings,” Dr McInness said kneeling and gently probing the fused soil around the borehole entrance. “It won’t take more than a few hours.”

  “We don’t have time,” Beckman said, motioning for Cougar to take point. The sniper turned and jogged off into the trees.

  “This site could have significant scientific value,” Dr McInness protested.

  “More value than a crashed mothership?” Beckman asked. The scientist opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again without arguing. “Just give me your best guess.”

  Dr McInness stared into the borehole thoughtfully. “I’d say they’re collecting soil samples, which proves this is a scientific expedition.”

  “Or they’re looking for a place to drop a planet-busting bomb,” Markus said dryly.

  “Major,” Cougar’s voice sounded in Beckman’s earpiece.

  Beckman clicked on his mike. “Yeah?”

  “There’s a track, if you can call it that, thirty meters west of your position.”

  “Understood.”

  Beckman headed into the forest, followed by the others. He hadn’t gone far when he saw Cougar standing on a narrow strip of hard packed red earth. The track was scarred with trenches cut by wet season rains and overhung by trees providing cover from the air. A tree lying across the track had been cut apart by a chain saw to allow a vehicle to pass. Judging by the weathering of the wood, it had been cut a long time ago.

  Hooper paced out into the center of the track, looking up and down it.

  Beckman joined him, checking his compass. “It’s heading in the right direction.”

  The sergeant rubbed the line of an old scar on the left side of his face thoughtfully. He’d picked that wound up in the Hindu Kush, years before, and had a habit of running his index finger over it when thinking. “The main road is closed for a reason.”

  “This isn’t the main road. There must hundreds of tracks like this out here. They can’t be watching them all.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Beckman hesitated, realizing Hooper was right. He had no idea what alien technology was capable of. He studied the decrepit state of this t
rack, thinking it hadn’t been graded for years. “We’re still a long way out, and it doesn’t look like there’s much traffic through here.”

  “It’s faster than punching through the forest,” Hooper conceded.

  Beckman pointed down the track to the northwest. “That way. Spread them out and be ready to take cover.”

  Hooper turned toward the team members now filtering towards them through the forest and bellowed, “Alright ladies, form columns either side of the road!”

  “Who you calling a lady, Sarge?” Vamp called out mischievously.

  Hooper grinned. “Excuse me! Ladies and … women of ill repute. Form up!” He strode down the center of the track. “Now that we’ve got this beautiful highway at our disposal, we’re going to pick up the pace.”

  Muted groans filled the air as the team formed into two dispersed columns.

  “Come on, Sarge,” Nuke moaned, “In this heat?”

  “This ain’t hot, Lieutenant, it’s just a little toasty!” Hooper removed his helmet and let the sun beat down on his shaved head for a moment. “Ah! Feel that sunshine.” He pulled his helmet back on and turned to the team with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Now that the good Lord has provided us with this fine roadway, we’re going to pick up the pace, people. Double time, if you please! Move out!”

  In short order, they were moving forward with a purpose. At the rear, Markus fell back, pausing at a bend in the track. When the team had marched out of sight, he pulled out his burst transceiver and typed in a short message. He knew there was a chance the transmission would be detected, but he judged the intel important enough to warrant the risk. He hit transmit, then not waiting for an acknowledgement, and remembering the fate of the patrol boat, he pocketed the device and jogged after the troops.

  Far to the south, the DSD listening post at Numbulwar detected the encrypted burst signal, and immediately relayed it via Shoal Bay to Fort Meade:

  Survivors confirmed. Small craft sighted. Type unknown. Intent unknown.

  CHAPTER 4