Area 51_Invasion

by Bob Mayer

  SWARM BATTLE CORE

  First Sergeant Donovan was in the midst of a psychotic break from reality. Not because this unbelievable experience was so overwhelming to his mind. But rather the fact that his unit, his men, he, had been so easily defeated.

  He was not a man who could accept defeat.

  Yet he shuffled along with the millions of others to the ledge. Fell forward into the biological soup.

  The instant the parasite released him, a tiny sliver of sanity returned.

  He reached to his combat vest, numbed fingers fumbling. Found the grenade, looped a finger through the pin and pulled it.

  The explosion shredded his body and took out a dozen other humans around him.

  Their remains became part of.

  SURVIVAL SILO, KANSAS

  Tremble shoved against the hatch to the survival pod. It gave way slowly, sapping him of what little strength he had. When it locked open, he had to take several minutes to catch his breath. He reached up and began pulling himself up the incline toward the silo.

  After ten feet he had to stop as he vomited blood. The blood made the metal tube slick and as he attempted to continue, his hands and feet scrabbled for a grip, got none, and he slid back down into the pod.

  He tried twice more, a bloody Sisyphus, until he died.

  EARTH

  The warship didn’t slow down, hitting the surface of the Pacific off the coast of Washington with a massive splash. It followed the beacon from the scout, which was now several miles below it.

  Straight down toward the sediment filling the Cascade trench.

  Inside, the hadesarchaea swirled in the large cargo bays, kept at a survival temperature of 150 degrees Fahrenheit.

  LATER ON THE SEVENTH

  AND LAST DAY

  SS SAROV, STRAIT OF JUAN DE FUCA

  The Captain spoke in a voice all in the command compartment could hear. “You are a brave man.”

  Volkov wore a dry suit. He had a long hose in one hand that he would hook up to the oxygen, and a tool kit in the other. His mask was pushed up on top of the dry suit hood. He had a radiation tag attached to the zipper of the suit. His face was not that of a brave man.

  The Captain leaned close and spoke so only Volkov could hear. “We are all dead men already. You are crossing the River Styx with honor. There is no better way.”

  That didn’t cheer Volkov up either, but the nuclear officer made his way forward from the control room. The Captain was right behind him. They were forward of the conning tower to the hatch which led to the oversized compartment containing Poseidon.

  “Good luck,” the Captain said as he shook Volkov’s hand.

  “You are making the wrong decision,” Volkov said. He added: “Sir.”

  “This weapon should have never been built,” the Captain said.

  “But it was,” Volkov argued. “And it should be used. Vladimir agrees.”

  “I understand the frustration,” the Captain said, “but it must be de-activated.”

  Volkov didn’t respond. He handed the toolkit to the Captain, climbed up and opened the first hatch. He reached down and took the toolkit without a word. The hatch closed and wheeled shut. The Captain checked the seal, then went back to the control center.

  Inside the small compartment, Volkov connected the air hose and made sure he had a positive flow. He waved at the small black eye of the camera.

  In the control room, the Captain personally opened the valve and the compartment began to flood around Volkov. The water rose as the nuclear officer lowered his goggles over his eyes and pulled on his gloves. Once the compartment was full, Volkov opened a hatch that led forward to the torpedo compartment, which was outside the pressure hull and already full of seawater.

  Volkov pushed the hatch open and stepped into the compartment, making sure the oxygen hose wasn’t snagging. Poseidon was 24 meters long and 1.6 meters in diameter; a submarine in its own right. It needed to be that big to carry the large nuclear warhead, the nuclear propulsion unit and the self-navigating system. Volkov had been part of the production and he knew the capabilities as well as anyone. Like many weapon systems that the Russian President had boasted about, the reality was somewhat less, but somewhat more.

  The President had touted Poseidon as a ‘doomsday’ weapon of last resort. He’d boasted about its ability to travel ten thousand kilometers (the real number was six thousand). By going underwater, it could avoid American counter-missile defenses. The President had also claimed it could travel at a speed of 185 kilometers per hour and had ‘stealth technology’; both those statements weren’t true. It could travel about 100 kilometers per hour, fast for underwater but at that speed it made a lot of noise. The Americans had both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans ringed with huge, submerged hydrophones in order to triangulate the location of submarines.

  The Sarov had managed to get this close, inside American waters, two weeks ago by shadowing a very large container ship bound for Seattle into the Strait and then going into whisper mode on the bottom.

  Volkov moved forward to the weapons compartment at the front of the long drone/torpedo. While the President had envisioned a devastating tsunami as the most effective use of the weapon, the Russian navy had been more practical. They saw it as tool with one of two specific missions. The first was to target an American carrier task force and wipe it out. The other was the one the Sarov had been on: to destroy one of the two American Trident home bases. For both of those the result was to be achieved not just from the initial, massive explosion, but also because the warhead was salted with Cobalt-60.

  Which was part of the reason for Volkov’s fatalistic demeanor. Once the Cobalt-60 had been inserted in its compartments around the warhead, the entire thing became ‘hot’. According to the manual, he had one hour and ten minutes of work time in here before his body had accumulated a dangerous dose.

  No one had ever tested that theoretical calculation.

  Also, the Soviet Union used to issue all its soldiers an ‘anti-radiation’ pill which they were told would keep them safe in case of nuclear warfare. It was a placebo, but showed what the government was capable of with the truth.

  Volkov pulled the wrench out of the toolbag and stared at the panel he had to remove.

  His earpiece came alive via the ship’s intercom.

  “Volkov?” Vladimir asked.

  “Yes?”

  “The Captain is wrong. We must attack the Americans. Do you concur?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then this is what you must do.”

  EARTH ORBIT

  Turcotte was looking for a trashed spaceship in a trash field. There was a considerable amount of space debris given that every satellite had been blasted or rammed by the Swarm Battle Core. He tried to remember the orbit at which he’d rescued the pilot of the Nimue. The surviving pilot, Kara, had ignited the fuel tank in a desperate measure to signal help and to halt orbital decay. There was the possibility the latter had not worked and what he was looking for had already burned up in the atmosphere. Or had been run into by the Core and was just bits and pieces on the surface of the alien ship.

  Once more had he acted before thinking.

  Then he remembered. He slid out of the pilot’s depression and found Kara’s helmet and the wrist control pad, jammed in a corner next to the remaining regeneration tube. He tapped the surface of the wrist pad. It still had power. He found ship’s status and opened that. Every indicator was red.

  But there were indications, which meant the ship still existed. He put the helmet on, then brought the heads up display on line. Experimented quickly, searching, and finally found a locator beacon. He activated it.

  The Nimue wasn’t far, relatively speaking. Turcotte accelerated the Fynbar toward the small red dot on the heads up display. Several hundred kilometers. Turcotte glanced up at the monitor with the rear view showing the Battle Core.

  Darlene?

  Nothing.

  He arrived at the wreckage of the Nimue, Mrs
. Parrish’s space ship that had been sent up to board the Airlia talon. It was in a very low orbit, thus it had escaped the Core’s orbits. And with its systems dead, it hadn’t attracted a shot from a particle beam.

  Turcotte put the Fynbar next to the ship. Quickly donned the TASC-suit. Vented the interior. The lines they’d used to pull the pod to Mars and back were coiled and stowed on the deck of the Fynbar. Turcotte swiftly released one of them. He jetted over to the Nimue. Attached it a to the derelict.

  Jetted back to the Fynbar, entered. Impatiently waited for the atmosphere to be restored. Unsuited and headed toward the Core with the Nimue and its attached nuclear weapon.

  SWARM BATTLE CORE

  It was impossible to fight the inexorable movement. The biological soup was heavy and even if Darlene could ‘swim’ against it, there were too many people surrounding her to go far. Nevertheless, she was trying, feet scrambling to find a purchase on the smooth floor underneath. Twisting between people, but she was losing.

  It would get worse when the larger bulks of Naga, Cthulhu, and more added to the pressure. Kraken were pulling themselves across the floor by reaching out with their tentacles and grabbing hold of the closest large beast and pulling, then grabbing another and another. The dragons swooped overhead, then landed in the biological soup and folded their wings, settling in.

  Darlene. How can we help?

  Sofia. You must listen. I don’t have much time. I understand now.

  *****

  In the Fynbar, racing toward the Core, Turcotte could ‘hear’ Darlene and whoever Sofia was. But he couldn’t join the conversation.

  *****

  You must remember everything I tell you, Darlene continued. You must tell Asha.

  We are all listening, Sofia replied. All the Metabols. We will remember.

  The Swarm is, in essence, one being. The bio-soup I am in right now, which is beginning to break my body down, is part of it. Their monsters are made of it.

  Are the Swarm made of it?

  *****

  In the Fynbar, Turcotte heard the exchange with alarm. He dove the ship into the portal he’d exited from.

  *****

  The Swarm is a virus. Each Core is one large, massive virus. Asha will understand. We have to wrap our brain around that concept. Because the Swarm is wrapping itself around us. Absorbing us. Absorbing me.

  Viruses do that. They replicate inside of a host, but this is the opposite. The Swarm is absorbing us inside of it to stay alive.

  *****

  Turcotte reached the membrane, powered the Fynbar through, then pulled the Nimue through.

  Darlene? He probed.

  Yes.

  Where is the brain? Turcotte asked. I have a nuclear weapon.

  Turcotte flew through the large docking bay. He’d been reacting to this point, but he began to realize there were a lot of holes in his half-ass plan. He had no idea how to detonate the nuke the Nimue carried. He assumed there was a way to launch the missile inside the craft. But there probably wasn’t a delay, even if he could launch. And—

  I’m not certain, Darlene responded. I sense there is one central location deep inside, heavily protected. I don’t think you can get to it. But what I am—there were several seconds of nothing and Turcotte felt a tingling sensation all over his body.

  I am becoming part of. I fear every part of the Swarm is part of what might be considered its consciousness not just a central brain. Your nuclear weapon is not enough.

  I’ll rescue you, Turcotte told her.

  Too late. There might be a moment when I will know. Know everything the Swarm knows. I will try to hold on to that moment as long as I can. Sofia, you must remember. Turcotte, you too. You are special. Both of you. All the Metabols. The Fades too.

  THE FACILITY

  Sofia blinked several times in shock.

  “What?” Joseph asked.

  Sofia waved a hand for silence and pointed at her head. “I must listen.”

  *****

  Asha watched the Fades spreading out from the entrance to the service tunnel. She frowned as they became more animated, shifting from a shuffle to a regular walk. Several of them turned and looked over their shoulders at her. They waved, all exactly the same way.

  Stunned, Asha returned the wave, the suit crinkling.

  The ones who had waved smiled. Then, in concert, turned away and kept walking. There was something else odd about them, then she realized all the Fades she could see were in step.

  “That can’t be,” Asha whispered to herself.

  A dog ran up to the boy. He leaned over and scratched it behind the ear, then pointed toward Asha. None of the others mimicked that movement. It sprinted toward her. The Fades were going in different directions, striding away in step as if they had a purpose.

  Asha.

  It was Sofia, calling out to her, drawing her back. Asha took the thumb drive off the dog’s collar. Headed for the entrance.

  Rex followed. When she entered the outer door, feeling the slight overpressure’s breeze, she looked down at the dog. If there was a virus outside, then the dog could be carrying it.

  “Sorry,” Asha said. She opened the inner door. Rex pressed against her leg, trying to get in.

  Asha slipped inside while keeping Rex out, shutting the door. She went to a decon shower, washed herself wearing the suit, let the drain clear, then stripped the suit and washed again.

  She put on her coverall and headed for the Facility.

  SWARM BATTLE CORE

  Turcotte exited the tunnel over the compartment awash with bodies. No more humans were coming out of the portals. The various monsters were tumbling into the gray mixture.

  He realized this worked the other way. The organic soup was how the Swarm made the Cthulhu, the Naga, the spiders, the parasites, the dragons, the bodies of the Medusas. All the biological forms it used came out of this soup. Formed somehow. Somewhere in the Core.

  He became aware that the realization was not original, that it came from Darlene.

  *****

  She heard Turcotte. Darlene! I’m here.

  But Darlene was ‘seeing’ so much as her body became part of the Swarm. The massive Battle Core. She realized it was mostly organic. It was still growing. She was trying to look back in time to how it was initially formed, but there was an issue more pertinent, more pressing. She reached out to Turcotte.

  I see now. Don’t waste your nuke here. There is something happening on Earth. Something that will finish what the Swarm started. The end of the planet.

  Turcotte didn’t ‘hear’ what Darlene sent him. He saw it, most likely as the Swarm saw what they doing. An image, a movie, playing through. What happened. What was happening. What should happen.

  That last he couldn’t allow.

  I am sorry he sent to Darlene.

  I was supposed to die long ago Darlene responded. Save the world.

  Turcotte could have sworn he heard bitter laughter.

  Hey, soldier. It’s not often you’re told that Darlene said.

  Turcotte spun the Fynbar about and headed back down the wide tunnel.

  *****

  Darlene was three quarters of the way to the curve downward. She noted that there were few people, or parts of people, visible here. They’d almost all been absorbed into the biological soup. They were ‘part of’.

  She was also part of, just not all the way. Her hands and feet were gone, absorbed. Strangely, there was no pain. She was on her back, looking up at the ceiling far above. She was tapped into the Swarm’s consciousness. So much to absorb. Again, as when she’d told Turcotte to save the world, she laughed out loud. So much to absorb while being absorbed.

  Sofia. Do you understand what I understand?

  Yes.

  Good.

  SAROV, STRAIT OF JUAN DE FUCA

  The Captain was watching Volkov do nothing via the video feed from the Poseidon chamber. “What is wrong?” he asked over the telecom link.

  “It is a wast
e to disable this,” Volkov said. “We must use the weapon.”

  The Captain’s lips tightened. He turned to the crew in the control center. “We will surface. Immediately.”

  The XO was surprised. “But what if the aliens are still there, sir?”

  “Then they are there,” the Captain said. “We must find out what is going on. And we must deal with Comrade Volkov.”

  PRIVATE ISLAND, PUGET SOUND

  “What about the Danse?” Nekhbet asked.

  “We are Eldest,” Nosferatu said.

  “We are also half human,” Nekhbet replied, “much as I hate to admit it.”

  “Yes, we are,” Nosferatu said as he led her toward the front door of Vampyr’s mansion.

  Nekhbet halted, causing Nosferatu to stop.

  “You did not answer my question,” Nekhbet said.

  “I lived through the Black Death,” Nosferatu said. “And many other plagues.”

  “This is three plagues combined, is it not?”

  “It is.”

  “So you don’t know if we will survive?”

  “Remember you asked me how long we were going to sleep when we came here?”

  “Yes. You said seven days.”

  “And it has been seven days,” Nosferatu said. “Remember the conversation I had with that virologist before we drank him?”

  “Are you going to answer me or keep asking me questions?”

  “He told me that the main drawback to the Danse, from his perspective, was a built in fail safe. Outside of a host, the Danse cannot last more than six days. The incubation for a host varies between three and five days. Death in less than an hour once it goes to the final stage.”

  “Thus seven days,” Nekhbet said. “You could have led with that.”