Bandaka smiled with relief at the sight of the tribal elder, although the seriousness on the old man’s face was unmistakable. Bandaka introduced his wife and daughter, then Mulmulpa.
“You boss man?” Mulmulpa asked, looking at Beckman with the same doubt hardened drill sergeants had shown when he was a first year cadet at West Point.
“I am.”
Mulmulpa appraised him carefully, then said ominously, “You go back, while you can,”
“I can’t do that.”
Mulmulpa leaned toward him. “You don’t understand. Even the spirits have gone.” The old man looked up through the trees at the shimmering dome overhead. “The sky is lost.”
Laura studied Mulmulpa. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she’d seen him. “We’re going to the Goyder River.”
Mulmulpa turned his attention to her. “You balanda women who study animals.”
She nodded, remembering balanda was a corruption of the word Hollander, the word the Yolngu used to refer to all Europeans. It was an ancient reference to the time when the Dutch had ruled the East Indies to the north of Australia, now modern day Indonesia.
Mulmulpa looked grave. “No go there. Only death on that river.”
“My husband is there.” Laura explained. “We could use your help.”
“We go to the coast,” Mulmulpa replied, glancing at Mapuruma and her mother.
“If there is a problem, you won’t be safe on the coast,” Beckman said. “You won’t be safe anywhere.”
Mulmulpa nodded. “I know.”
“We have weapons, and training,” Beckman said, “But we’d have a better chance with your help.”
Mulmulpa looked at their weapons unimpressed. “You fix the sky?”
Beckman glanced at the blurred curtain shrouding the skies above. “We’ll try.”
Mulmulpa realized their path had already been decided, otherwise, why would they have found the soldiers? Why would the balanda women be with them? Mulmulpa remembered her husband, an honest man who’d once given him a ride in his four-wheel-drive and was now missing. Somehow, the spirits had brought them together.
Mulmulpa relented to his fate. “OK. I show you bad spirits. You see. Come, come.” He pointed to the northwest, motioning for Beckman to follow.
Beckman motioned for Hooper to spread the team in a skirmish line behind them, then he nodded to the old man. “OK, show me the bad spirits.”
* * * *
Bill steered the fishing boat through increasingly steep walled gorges strewn with pencil-thin waterfalls. The canyons were stifling cauldrons choked by still air and searing heat, while the buzz of insects lulled the senses. Occasionally they glimpsed the great red sandstone massif of Parsons Range to the west, towering above verdant forest. When the canyon walls closed in, they spotted shapes painted in the shadowed recesses beneath sheer rock faces, the work of long dead aboriginal artists depicting ancient spirits and dreamtime legends. How old these paintings were, they couldn’t tell, for this truly was a land lost to time.
They scanned the banks and murky waters of the river, searching for a suitable landing spot. Everywhere they looked, they found crocodiles, more than fifty every kilometer, most over two meters in length. They all knew the stories of how big the creatures had been, up to nine meters long with jaws large enough for a man to stand in. That had been in the early twentieth century, before the great reptiles had been hunted almost to extinction for their skins. Now that they were protected and growing in size and numbers again, it was only a matter of time before monsters once again ruled the remote northern rivers.
Anxious to avoid the larger predators, they pressed on up river to where the waters narrowed. Bill selected a stretch of river bank, where gorge walls gave way to a shelving slope beneath a tree covered plateau. He nosed the fishing boat in toward the west bank, barely a kilometer south of rocky falls that blocked further navigation. Towering overhead, the translucent energy dome stretched from one horizon to the other, dulling the normally vibrant blue sky and filtering the tropical sun of its harsh glare. When the boat bumped ashore, Wal leapt off the bow and tied a line to a stunted tree. They then unloaded everything except the beer and fresh food, which they decided to leave in the boat’s cooler until their camp was established.
“There’s a pair of eyes over there,” Cracker reported casually, nodding to a stretch of river bank hidden beneath a tangle of pandanus palms.
“Where?” Wal asked apprehensively.
“He won’t bother us,” Bill said, instinctively feeling for the old nine millimeter pistol strapped to his hip.
They carried their gear up the slope to the plateau, then followed a small stream inland until they found a suitable campsite. With nothing but water to quench their thirst, they were eager to get back down to the boat, but called a short break to catch their breaths.
“Whose stupid idea was it to camp up here?” Slab growled as he flopped down beside the stream, splashing handfuls of water over his head.
“At least there are no crocs up here,” Wal said brightly.
“Yeah, that’s because crocs aren’t stupid!” Slab snapped.
“You could always keep them company down by the river,” Cracker said.
“Not bloody likely.”
They hurried back down to the boat, then gathered around the bow, waiting in hope as Bill climbed aboard and rummaged through a locker.
After a minute, he held up an old nylon fishing net triumphantly. “Found it!” They knew he planned to tie the net to a tree, put the beer cans in the net and sink it in the river to keep them cold.
“Nature’s esky!” Wal declared happily.
Bill pocketed the net, then retrieved several large cardboard boxes of beer from the boat’s freezer and passed them to Slab, who balanced one on each shoulder. He was about to turn back to the cooler when he noticed a broad shadow gliding across the beach toward them. His three companions followed his confused gaze, then they looked up to see a large rectangular, smooth skinned vehicle floating silently above them. Running parallel along its sides were rows of glowing blue lights, while in the center of the hull was a flat oval that filled the middle third of the vehicle’s underbelly.
“That’s not from around here!” Cracker said.
The flat oval surface vanished, revealing a narrow shaft filled with two circular nozzles separated by a glowing red square. They felt a wave of heat radiate down from the red square as if they were looking into a blast furnace, then a beam of brilliant white light shot down from each nozzle and locked onto the aluminum boat. The boat shuddered as it fought against the suction of the mud, then the remaining cartons of beer floated up out of the open cooler. One of the cartons Slab held was torn from his grip, forcing him to wrap both hands around the other. The rectangular cardboard beer cartons streamed up into the red square and were instantly vaporized in flash of light, replaced by a fine mist of beer and aluminum.
Bill felt a sharp pain in his jaw as his old metal fillings fought to tear themselves free of his teeth. Instinctively, he clamped his jaw firmly shut, then lost his footing as the boat lurched clear of the mud. His ex-army pistol flew from its holster and spun up toward the vehicle, while loose change was pulled from his pockets and followed the pistol skywards.
“Jump!” Cracker yelled, backing away.
The boat started to rise with increasing speed. It was three meters off the water when Bill launched himself over the gunwale and splashed down into knee-deep water. With the loss of his weight, the boat accelerated toward the glowing red contact furnace.
Bill remembered the half full fuel tank, and jumped to his feet. “Run!” He bellowed as he splashed out of the water toward the rocky slope.
The others turned and followed, except Slab who continued to wrestle for control of the last precious carton of beer, trying to prevent it being stolen by the metal harvesting vehicle above. The carton rose slowly into the air, lifting him off the ground, while overhead, the fishin
g boat tilted stern up as the heavy engine dragged the boat to its destruction. Both anchors along with tools and spare parts floated free, climbing alongside the boat, then the line Wal had tied went taut, and parted. The boat touched the glowing contact furnace, flashing into a cloud of molten droplets and burning fuel. When the flames cleared, the metal droplets had been extracted from the air, leaving no trace of the boat. The glowing white nozzles, sensing a trace of aluminum remained, effortlessly tore the case of beer from Slab’s hands. He fell onto the muddy bank as the carton shot up toward the contact furnace and was instantly vaporized. Slab picked himself up with mounting rage, half covered in mud, swearing furiously, as the harvester glided silently away toward the west.
“Now we’re really screwed,” Bill said.
“No joke!” Slab said angrily as he stomped up the bank. “No bloody boat, and no bloody beer!”
“It’s like the Bermuda Triangle,” Wal whispered mysteriously, looking at the now empty sky.
Slab gave him an incredulous look. “There’s nothing out here but crocodiles, aborigines and us!” Slab wiped thick black mud from his trousers. “They’d have to be the dumbest bloody aliens in outer frigging space to land here!”
“Yeah, well they’re here!” Wal motioned toward the energy dome above to prove his point.
Bill started up the rocky slope. “We should see if the camp’s still there.”
If the camp had survived, they still had guns, food and fresh water, enough to survive. With unspoken agreement, they scrambled up the jagged slope.
“This is the crappiest holiday I’ve ever been on,” Slab complained as they followed the stream toward their camp. “We should have gone to Cable Beach and got smashed.”
“No mate, then the wives would have come!” Bill declared, bringing him back to Earth.
When they reached their camp, they found it was untouched.
“It’s all here,” Wal declared happily. “We’re OK!”
“You bloody Pollyanna!” Slab gave Wal’s shoulder a back hander. “We’re hundreds of kilometers from anywhere. Aliens have nicked our boat, swiped our beer, and left us stranded in the middle of a million bloody crocodiles. How the hell is that OK?”
“Well, it could be worse,” Wal replied, feelings hurt.
“How?” Slab demanded.
Wal pondered the question, then replied seriously, “They could have slept with our wives.”
They exchanged intrigued looks, imagining their wives being ravished by aliens, then Bill said thoughtfully, “Mate, you haven’t seen my wife.”
“If aliens saw my wife,” Cracker exclaimed dryly, “they’d invade another planet!”
“If we’re back late,” Bill said, “my wife will make them wish they had!”
They erupted into laughter, dropping down into the shade of the trees, then as they quietened, they all felt the thirst of a Top End afternoon.
“If only those bloody aliens hadn’t knocked off our beer,” Slab lamented miserably. “They must be cruel bastards.”
CHAPTER 10
Mulmulpa led them west along a tree-lined ridge toward the Walker River. He moved with surprising speed for a man of his age, and seemed to know every rock and tree by sight. Bandaka and Liyakindirr kept pace with the old man, ready to protect him should one of the machines appear, while Bandaka’s wife and daughter followed a short distance behind with Beckman and the rest of his team.
Occasionally, they spotted rectangular mineral harvesters flying ahead of their line of march, but none came close. When they neared the river, they saw a dense column of white steam rising in the distance, then as the ridge angled north, Mulmulpa led Beckman, Markus and Dr McInness to a vantage point at the top of the cliffs overlooking the river. Laura followed uninvited, slipping away before Hooper realized she was gone. After a short hike, Mulmulpa knelt behind a scrawny paperbark tree and pointed to a narrow strip of land on the far side of the river, wedged between sandstone cliffs and the river bank.
An imposing white cylindrical structure dominated the strip, rising high above the surrounding trees. It was wider than a football field, and crowned by a shallow domed roof. A series of brilliant, glowing red rings encircled the structure’s outer wall halfway between the ground and the roof. Shimmering waves of heat, radiating from the rings, partially obscured a chain of long rectangular vents positioned just below the domed roof. Super heated steam billowed from the vents, formed a single column which boiled skywards only to dissipate at high altitude.
Spaced evenly around the central structure were five domed buildings, each topped by a diamond-shaped projector emitting a brilliant beam of white light toward the main building’s rings. All six structures were spotlessly clean, and the ground they stood upon was graded perfectly level with laser-like precision.
“Reminds me of a power plant,” Markus said, recalling images of steam rising from curved white cooling towers.
“They’re long past thermal power,” Dr McInness assured him. “It’s more likely to be some kind of industrial activity.”
Beckman lowered his binoculars. “They sure built it fast. It would take us years to construct something that big.”
“It has to be prefab,” Dr McInness said. “It probably assembled itself in a few hours. We’ve been planning self erecting structures for Mars missions for years. Same principle.”
“Not the same,” Markus corrected. “Mars is uninhabited.”
“This is nuts,” Beckman said. “They’ve been watching us for thousands of years, making sure we know as little as possible about them. Why screw it up now?”
“Different club,” Markus said cryptically.
Beckman nodded. “Yeah, that’s got to be it.”
“What club?” Laura demanded. “What are you talking about?
Beckman glanced back at Laura, surprised to see her behind them. “Like the UN, only not screwed up.”
“The Local Powers clearly have agreed to keep primitives like us ignorant of their existence,” Markus explained, “So we don’t live in perpetual fear, or do something stupid like worship them as Gods. That way we can develop at our own pace.”
Beckman lowered his binoculars. “Except these guys don’t give a damn if we know they’re here or not.”
“Yeah, this is way outside the norm,” Markus agreed. “It proves this species isn’t playing by the rules, and probably isn’t from around here.”
“Shitty deal for us,” Beckman said.
“There is still one peaceful possibility,” Dr McInness cut in, ready to grasp any straw. “They may be unable to hide their presence, because their ship is so badly damaged. That dome up there,” he said pointing skywards, “To keep us out, while they make repairs.”
Markus snorted dismissively. “That’s a lot of ifs. Too many for my book.”
“Perhaps not,” Dr McInness persisted. “That facility might be manufacturing what they need to get their ship back into space. If it’s self erecting, it might also be self disassembling.”
“It would be easier to call for spare parts, rather than manufacture them.” Beckman said warily.
“Depends how far away home is, and how badly damaged their communication systems are. Or it could be technologically impossible to transmit a faster than light message.”
Bandaka pointed to the sky north of them. “Look!”
A harvester flew toward the structure from the southeast. It came in slow, hovering above the northern end of the complex. A dark hole appeared in the ground, then a gray stream poured from the vehicle into the hole, creating a small dust cloud as it fell. When the craft had released its load, it climbed and headed off to the northeast while the hole in the ground vanished.
“I’ll be damned!” Beckman exclaimed. “They’re dump trucks!”
“It’s industrial,” Dr McInness said, with increased confidence. “I’d really like to get a look inside.
“Forget it, Doc. You’ll be sitting with the backpacks when we go in.”
&n
bsp; “You need me. Virus is in a coma, so you’re short a technical specialist.”
“I’ll make do.”
“I didn’t come halfway around the world to be eaten alive by bugs, and not do my job,” Dr McInness declared adamantly. “I may not know how to use a gun, but I am the only one with the scientific expertise to figure out what’s going on here.”
“You’re forgetting Xeno.”
“OK then, you’ll have to shoot me to stop me!” Dr McInness added.
Beckman suppressed a desire to draw his gun, partly because he suspected the scientist might be right. “OK, I guess I can’t shoot you.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t like to be shot.”
“It sucks, trust me.” Beckman said, then turned to Bandaka. “Is there a way across the river?”
Bandaka nodded. “Down river. Not far.”
“Show me.”
* * * *
Bandaka guided them to a series of rock ledges and boulders that dammed the river like a natural weir, the same rock formation that had prevented Bill bringing his fishing boat further up stream. It was hidden from the alien installation by a sandstone spur that ran almost to the water’s edge, allowing them to cross in secret.
Bandaka paused at the water’s edge. “Follow my steps,” he said, then cautiously moved out onto the submerged ledge.
The hunter held his weapons in both hands for balance, while Mapuruma followed close behind, at ease on the slippery rocks. Beckman went in next, followed by the rest of the team in single file. Halfway across, Mapuruma stopped to gaze into the gorge below the falls, seemingly oblivious to the dangers lurking in the murky waters upstream. She let some of the others pass her by, unconcerned by the growing distance between herself and her father.
“That kid better move, before she gets left behind and eaten!” Timer said.
The Mothership Page 16
