by David Moody
James didn’t finish asking his question. An audible collective gasp from around the pub silenced him. He turned back to the TV and saw that the smaller alien machine on the screen was moving again. It climbed to a slightly higher altitude, almost as if it wanted to be seen. Or was it being aimed?
‘Shit,’ Rob said quietly, ‘is that some kind of missile?’
The camera angle and the lack of visible references made it difficult to gauge the machine’s precise size and height. Tom was trying to estimate its proportions and guess its intent when, without warning, a series of lights appeared on the surface of the ship, all around its perimeter, all pointing upwards.
‘What’s happening?’ James asked pointlessly. He knew no one could answer, but it helped him just to ask. The relative silence in the pub was replaced with a low buzz of nervous voices when a hatch slid open on the top of the machine. And then, slowly – cautiously – a lone figure appeared, lifted gracefully into view on some kind of platform. There was a heart-stopping moment of confusion as the picture shifted and blurred, but it was only the camera operator struggling to keep up with events. As the picture came back into focus, they watched the figure step off the platform and take a few steps out onto the hull of its vessel.
Tom stared at an alien.
It was an undeniably unsettling and yet strangely inspiring sight. Standing somewhere between six and seven feet tall, Tom thought, it looked to him to be distinctly male, not that he had any reason to assume these creatures had human-like sexes. It had smooth, dark pink skin and he thought it looked burned, as if it had spent too long unprotected under the strong summer sun. Its head was unexpectedly disproportionate, and looked too large and heavy to be supported by such a gaunt frame. It had a light covering of grey, almost silver hair which was swept back at the temples, giving it a distinguished appearance. The alien wore a simple yet formal-looking uniform made of dark material with little in the way of decoration.
The creature stood still for the longest thirty seconds in history, its large eyes fixed straight ahead, apparently unfazed both by its exposed position and the fact it must have known it was now the sole focus of attention of the entire planet. Tom wondered what thoughts were running through its head. Whatever it felt, the creature (and that suddenly felt like too derogatory a term given its dignified appearance), remained regimentally stood to alert as it was scanned, scrutinised and inspected by the population of the planet.
‘Is that thing really an alien?’ Tom asked the question without thinking.
‘What else could it be?’ Rob replied.
In the hours since he’d witnessed the ship’s descent through the storm clouds, Tom had almost begun to get used to the fact that it was here. But this new development – this first confirmed and indisputable visible contact with an alien life-form – had made all the nervousness he’d felt out on his cliff-top run immediately return. Back to square one again in a heartbeat.
The alien on the screen continued to stand its ground, unperturbed by the chaos of movement and light which was now beginning to unfold all around it. What was it waiting for, Tom wondered? Was it going to surrender, or give the signal to attack? Neither option seemed more likely than the other. As he watched, it seemed to take in a long, deep breath, then tilted its oversized head back on its relatively slight shoulders and looked up at the mother-ship above. The TV coverage abruptly switched to a close-up of the alien’s head from another angle, and the similarities with a human face caught Tom off-guard. Other than an unusually pronounced forehead (which gave the alien an unfortunate Neanderthal-like profile from this angle), its basic facial features were instantly familiar. It had a wide, thin-lipped mouth, a small nose (too small, Tom thought), two ears which were quite flat and smooth and which were tilted back at a more obtuse angle than a human’s, and a pair of sharp, crystal-blue eyes. As still as the rest of its body remained, its eyes moved constantly, alert and intense, absorbing every detail.
When the camera angle switched again, the picture revealed that a boat had come alongside the shuttle craft. Filled with at least twenty heavily-armed soldiers, it bobbed and rolled with the waves, looking increasingly precarious in comparison to the unnaturally steady alien vehicle. The alien finally looked down from the mother-ship, took another deep breath of salty sea air (was it nervous, Tom wondered?), then raised its hands and struck an unmistakably passive pose. For a few seconds Tom was preoccupied with the unnatural length of the alien’s limbs – its elbows were lower down than expected, and it’s wrists higher – and he cursed himself for allowing himself to be distracted by trivialities at such a monumental, historic moment. The alien then began to move. It walked to the end of its ship, then stepped down onto the military boat. The soldiers all edged back slightly, leaving the new arrival standing alone in a small bubble of space on the deck. It continued to hold its hands up, keen to demonstrate that it was unarmed and had nothing to hide. The soldiers retook their original positions. For a few seconds longer the alien’s bulbous head remained visible in the midst of the crowd, then it disappeared as it was taken below deck. The small boat immediately began to move away from the scene at speed, banking hard to port. The camera operator scrambled to keep it focused and in shot as it raced towards the shore, desperate for a final few frames of alien footage.
On the TV, the news channel cut back to the studio. The anchor man whose face filled the screen looked lost for words. He was about to speak but was rudely truncated when all the TVs were switched off. John Tipper’s distinctive voice rose above the sudden noise of everyone else. ‘Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen, let’s have your glasses please. I think that’s quite enough excitement for one day. I’m sure you’ve all got homes to go to.’
Without complaint, the pub began to empty.
CHAPTER 4
Tom woke several times during the night, to the point where he felt he’d been lying awake longer than he’d been asleep. He had a few very definite recollections of what had happened in the hours since they’d returned home, but they were muddied by confused, alcohol-induced dreams of running through storms and alien ships.
He clearly remembered falling into bed with Siobhan, wanting to make love to her, but not knowing if he physically could with all the beer still sloshing around in his gut. He remembered how those doubts had immediately disappeared when she’d slipped beneath the sheets and had started stroking, nibbling and licking. He remembered her sitting on top of him, the covers having long since fallen away, looking up at the ceiling and biting her lip as she held onto his shoulders and pulled herself down onto him. He remembered her face, barely illuminated but completely beautiful, and the shape of her arched back and perfect breasts. The warmth of her body…
He’d fallen asleep after sex but had woken a short time later, dizzy with booze, bladder about to burst, unsteady on his feet. He remembered leaving the light off in the bathroom because it was too bright, then missing the toilet and pissing up the wall because he couldn’t see properly, then tripping over his discarded jeans on the way back to bed. He remembered Siobhan getting up for work and leaving just before eight, but what had happened since then was largely a blur. He didn’t know what time it was now. He opened one eye and tried to focus on the clock next to the bed, but the bedroom was filled with light and he could barely make out any of the numbers. Instead he grabbed his phone and checked the screen. Eleven thirty-eight. Bloody hell, it was late. He had a message from Siobhan. Short and sweet:
is it me or the beer u can’t handle? get up u lazy fucker x
In contrast to the ferocious weather yesterday afternoon, today was a gloriously hot summer day. The air in the bedroom was stifling. With considerable effort, Tom forced himself up. He swung his legs off the bed and sat up too fast, then screwed his eyes shut and waited for a wave of self-induced nausea to pass. His head was pounding, and for a moment he wasn’t sure if he was going to black out, vomit, or both. It was a relief when the sickness faded enough for him to get up a
nd stumble over to the window.
And then he remembered: The run… The alien ship… Last night in the Badger’s Sett, watching mankind’s first confirmed contact with intelligent life from another world…
His hangover immediately forgotten, he picked up his phone again and checked the news headlines, genuinely concerned that something terrible might have happened while he’d been asleep. Surely I’d have heard, he thought as he waited for the page to load. Wouldn’t Rob or Siobhan have woken me up if it was the end of the world?
It was hard to focus on such a small screen with his head so fuzzy. Satisfied that it wasn’t the end of everything just yet, he pulled back the curtains and looked out over Thatcham.
The village looked very different; as busy as carnival day, but without the flags and floats and bouncy castles. The streets were teeming with activity – more people around than he’d seen all summer, and there were no free parking spaces either. The car parks were full and there were vehicles parked up on the grass verges with still more arriving. From his window he could see the road coming into Thatcham from the north, and it was unexpectedly busy, clogged with a queue of slow-moving traffic. There was no doubt about it, Thatcham was the place to be this morning. It was no surprise, really. He guessed this entire stretch of coastline would probably be the same.
Tom took a clean T-shirt and a pair of shorts from the wardrobe and kicked his dirty clothes into the corner. He stumbled through into the bathroom where, after doing everything he needed to do and cleaning his teeth twice to get rid of the taste of last night, he got dressed and gradually began to feel human again. Human, he thought as he looked into the mirror. Doesn’t seem to have the same impact as it used to.
He headed for the kitchen to get coffee and toast to settle his still volatile stomach, but Rob had beaten him to it. Tom found him leaning against the back door, looking as bad as he himself felt. The kettle was boiling. With much moaning and groaning, he made drinks and passed one to Tom.
‘All right?’ Tom asked. Rob grunted something he couldn’t make out. He tried again. ‘Feeling rough?’
‘Fucking terrible. You?’
‘Same.’
Rob went through to the living room, dragging his feet along the carpet as if they were too heavy to pick up. He crashed onto the sofa and groaned again as he reached for the TV remote.
‘You seen how busy it is out there today?’ Tom asked.
‘It’s been like that all morning.’
‘Have you been up long?’
‘Don’t remember going to bed.’
‘Idiot.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So has anything happened?’
‘What, apart from a ship full of aliens turning up in the skies over Thatcham.’
‘Yes, apart from that.’
‘Well they’re not here to kill us, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘How do you know?’
Rob turned up the TV sound on one of the news channels. At first glance it looked the same as usual: the forced smile of an overly made-up, plastic-faced presenter, the ticker-tape running across the bottom of the screen, distracting graphics and icons constantly appearing then disappearing… but the headlines were anything but usual. It was still bizarre to hear the newsreader talking about alien contact and ‘entering a new era for mankind.’ Was there anyone left alive on the surface of the planet who hadn’t heard what had happened here? In these days of the Internet, mobile phones, digital TV, and everything else, when information was harder to avoid than to come by, could there be anyone who still wasn’t aware of the arrival of the aliens? More to the point, he thought as he waited for the headlines, there’s no way anyone could keep something like this quiet, even if they wanted to. The picture cut to a montage of shaky phone footage of the arrival of the ship, taken from various locations. How many thousands of people have video like that on their phones?
Back to the studio. The woman on the screen was annoying him now. Was that a smile or a grimace? Her skin was too perfect, her lips too red, not a hair out of place. Can I trust you? Are you an alien?
Midday. Headlines. The monumental events of the last twenty-four hours were condensed into two minutes of sound-bites and recycled footage, much of which he’d already seen, but that was sufficient. A little more information followed: an observation station in Southern Australia had, apparently, been the first place to pick up the distress signal (and Tom still wasn’t sure how they knew the aliens were in distress), and from there the progress of the ship had been continually tracked until a coordinated military task force under the command of the United Nations had guided the vessel out over safer waters.
Old news. What had happened since then?
The newsreader explained that direct contact had been made with the occupants of the ship shortly before they’d reached the Earth’s atmosphere. Just after midnight UK time, agreement had been made for a representative of the aliens to be taken into custody to explain their sudden and unexpected arrival here.
Tom couldn’t quite gauge the level of bullshit at play. This was mainstream TV news, so he knew there’d undoubtedly be some spin being put on the story somewhere along the line, but where, and from which direction? It was impossible to tell. But Christ, he thought, it all sounded so perfect. Too perfect, if anything. Maybe it was just him being a cynic?
Truth was, Tom was scared. He wanted answers no one was yet in any position to provide. He couldn’t say anything to Rob or Siobhan – he didn’t think either of them would understand – but he didn’t feel particularly good about any of this. Maybe it was the lack of control that troubled him. Whatever these bloody aliens decided to do, there was bugger all he could do about it.
In comparison, Rob didn’t seem to give a damn. He lifted his backside to fart, then groaned again.
‘Dirty bastard,’ Tom said.
‘Hold up, this is new,’ Rob said, ignoring him.
‘What is?’
‘This,’ he said again, nodding at the TV. ‘Haven’t seen this guy before.’
The man on the screen wore a well-decorated military uniform and spoke in heavily-accented, clipped English. Like the bewildered politician they’d seen on TV yesterday, this man also struggled to make himself heard over the noise in the briefing room where he was standing. He stood at a UN plinth, waiting impatiently for quiet. Eventually the noise subsided enough for him to continue.
‘Since the alien representative gave himself up to us in the early hours of this morning, we’ve been discussing the on-going situation constantly. They have complied with our every request, and have given us no reason to believe they will not continue to do so.
‘We are aware that these developments have incredibly wide-reaching ramifications, not just for countries and governments, but for every individual person on the planet too. With that in mind, the Security Council has authorised the following statement in the belief that honesty and transparency is the only way forward given the circumstances.’
‘Sounds ominous,’ Tom said.
‘Not necessarily.’
The UN representative continued. ‘Since the days before mankind took its first tentative steps beyond the atmosphere of our planet, we have dreamed of the moment we make contact with intelligent life from another planet. That day was yesterday.
‘Our science-fiction writers and film-makers have, unfortunately, always tended to put a rather dark and overdramatic slant on such events, portraying them as the beginning of the end, rather than anything more positive. Let me reassure you all today, we have no reason to be afraid of these visitors.’
‘Visitors!’ Tom laughed. ‘Reminds me of that old programme we used to watch. Remember V? I’ve been thinking about that show a lot today.’
‘Funny, that,’ Rob said. ‘Suppose visitors is as good a word as any.’
The man on the screen had paused for the assembled throng of reporters to absorb his words and calm down again. He continued, ‘As you already know, the ali
en ship is currently surrounded by an international military force which will remain there as long as necessary. The visitors have made no attempt to respond to their presence with anything less than complete humility.’
‘Odd choice of word,’ Tom said. Rob grunted.
‘This first contact between our two worlds was not planned, it came about by chance. I can tell you that the aliens were on a mining expedition on the outskirts of our galaxy. Their ship was damaged in an accident, leaving them unable to return home. It seems that we are the only other intelligent life-forms in an almost incalculably vast region of space. The aliens have, therefore, come to us for help.
‘This is not an invasion, this arrival is not a precursor of doom for our world, this is an opportunity for all of us. Despite being a considerably more advanced race than ourselves, the visitors are at our mercy. Their ship is incapable of making the return journey back to their world. Put simply, without our help, they will not survive.’
‘Do you buy that?’ Tom asked. ‘All that intelligence and technology, but they can’t fix their ship?’
‘Why not?’ Rob quickly replied. ‘Remember when you had that blowout on the motorway the other month?’
‘What about it? Hardly the same league.’
‘Same principle, though. You didn’t have a spare, so you were stuck standing on the hard shoulder for hours until the recovery truck could get to you.’
‘So?’
‘So, you know how to replace a tyre, but you didn’t physically have one, so there wasn’t anything you could do.’
He had a point, but Tom’s head still wasn’t clear enough to be able to see it. He tried to concentrate on the TV again, but the UN official had drifted into rhetoric about ‘new beginnings’ and ‘the dawn of a new age’, and he lost interest.
‘So how come they’re able to talk to us?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘That’s one of the things I could never work out from Star Trek. Wherever they went and whoever or whatever they met, everyone spoke English.’
