Initiation Series: Series One Compilation (Terran Chronicles)

by James Jackson

  Once George and Lisa are in bed, he quietly recounts the day's events. “I feel at odds about working with these creatures. Their attack did destroy our neighborhood and kill many of our friends. I don’t know if I believe our politicians either. It's difficult; perhaps we should just leave this place and not come back.”

  Lisa thinks long and hard before she responds. “We do not know if they meant to hit the city or not. You said tonight, that these aliens could easily have killed everyone on the planet, but instead they are helping us. This is a pivotal time for humanity, and yes, we could leave, or we could face this challenge together. If you want to leave, we will, of course. But I think our answers are here, if there are any, so we should stay to find out.”

  He knows that she is right. If they leave, they will never know the truth, and without that, he knows he won't find peace. “We will stay then, and learn as much as we can about these aliens.” He smiles at his wife, her support for him unwavering, even at a time like this. “I do love you.” George murmurs.

  George is so drained mentally he falls asleep in minutes. He sleeps long and hard, and dreams about the possibilities of the bodysuits. It takes Lisa a lot longer to fall asleep. She feels a great loss for the people that were killed. She finds it hard to believe a race of beings that can traverse space, would bother with killing Earth’s people for no reason at all. Watching her sleeping man, she feels a sense of pride that he is coping, but wonders when the loss of his father will catch up to him. His mother died in a Manhattan hospital while giving birth to him, leaving him and his father all alone.

  Location:

  Forest area west of Clamart

  Paris, France

  The small group that turns up the next morning includes an unarmed Radclyf, dressed in blue jeans with a tan colored shirt. Looking at the spacecraft, he can see massive armor plates, landing struts, and a large ramp in its midsection. Radclyf casually looks at the side of the ramp and the place where it would raise up when not in use. It would seem that the armored plates are over thirty feet thick, the hull is about three feet thick beneath that. The armor itself is dented and scorched, even melted in places, perhaps indicating a space battle. Maybe we damaged the fleet with all the missiles that were launched? But with armor like this, he wonders if even a nuclear blast would penetrate the ship. The armor is layered in plates and looks as though it is meant to give and flex, preventing hull and or structural damage. With a sigh, he realizes there is going to be no way of destroying these ships from the outside. If these Gamin get hostile, there is nothing he can do, especially with the weapons at his team’s disposal. Perhaps a massive blast from inside would damage the spacecraft, but how would this be done?

  Once up the ramp and inside the spacecraft, the group of seventeen people can see smaller craft attached to walls, the ceiling, and even some tracked vehicles on the floor. A single alien stands off in the distance. He is tall, with the mottled green skin they all seem to have, and that snout full of teeth. The alien is wearing some sort of jumpsuit, and though a fair distance away, his yellow eyes seem to glow.

  A metallic sound voice sounds out, “Suivre,” as the creature moves off.

  Oh, French, of course; luckily that won't be a problem, thinks Radclyf with a whimsical smile. This is France after all, what was I expecting? Armed with only a powerful but small recorder, Radclyf turns it on. The small unit will record every sound, its built-in camera is useless in his pocket, however.

  After a short trek, the group catches up to the alien and finds that he is indeed tall, taller than everyone in the group. The alien has sharp looking bone spikes jutting from his arms and legs, but they don't seem to bother the alien as it struts ahead. Soon enough, the group finds themselves in a large room with tables, chairs, and along one wall, many view screens.

  The alien continues speaking, in French. “I have been assigned to provide training in biologics. Sit down, place either hand on the table, and state your name.” The Alien does not introduce itself, it merely stands at the front of the room.

  Everyone sits at the desks. Radclyf sits, and finds the desk and chair to be quite comfortable. Not being sure of what these aliens know or don’t know, he states his real name. As soon as he does the table lights up, and reveals itself to be a touch screen computer interface.

  Once everyone has done as asked, the alien continues its lecture. “You call your species human. Though many creatures inhabit this planet, you are the most advanced. Today's lesson is about creatures that use oxygenated blood to function. This is a common system found throughout many species. A key ability of this system is self repair, healing. A key failing of this system is that with many interdependent components, the failure of one can end the creature’s life.”

  The alien continues on and starts using terminology that Radclyf cannot understand. At times, information is displayed in French on his table top. The Gamin, it seems, know a lot about humans, a whole lot. Radclyf is hopelessly lost and finds his concentration wandering. After a while, he is brought back with words he definitely understands. “Humans spend many cycles growing to maturity, then after only an average of forty cycles of productivity, they spend many cycles again being useless as they wait to die. Non-productive time exceeds productive time for many. With the addition of the chemicals displayed, humans can expect to more than double their lifespan to approximately one hundred fifty cycles, with an increase of useful productivity of greater than one hundred cycles.”

  Again, Radclyf finds the medical jargon leaps and bounds ahead of him, but he now wonders about the precise wording. By the end of the day, he is bewildered by the idea of living for one hundred fifty or more years, and being fully active for most of those. By late afternoon, the session is complete. The alien invites the attendees to a follow-up session scheduled for the next day. The few medical people in the room are quite excited by today's seminar. Many have taken notes, and plan to research the claims made by this alien.

  Radclyf can only wonder why the Gamin want us to live longer. Are we slaves or servants? Either way, what is the motive for this help? Perhaps the loss of life was a mistake after all, and they feel bad about it, though he doubts that. He can't believe what he has heard and begins to wonder about his own translation. He exits the spacecraft via the same ramp they entered; then, heading back to the hotel, he takes a meandering route designed to lose any would-be followers.

  As Radclyf rounds a corner, his senses instantly go on full alert. There, resting against a wall smoking an old English pipe, is the very same tall man from the ferry. Casually leaning there, he says in excellent French. “Ah, my old friend, it is good to see you went to the medical seminar. Please, won’t you join me for a stroll?” The man from the ferry steps ahead. Radclyf, though alert, is also very curious and walks behind the man. He is ready for action as he scans all around. Radclyf's nerves tingle as they head toward the very hotel he is staying in, but he stays quietly alert and says nothing.

  Walking on, the man ahead finally speaks between puffs on his pipe “My name is Peter, and I am a fan of yours, Radclyf. You should be quite proud, as your military career is required reading for many of us. Let me put you at ease. I used to be a Russian sleeper agent, that is, until politics deemed me obsolete about twenty years ago. With no family or friends at home, I decided to stay in England and continue teaching. In any case, I could not, in good conscience, abandon my students. However, old ties die hard, so I find myself here under orders. Does the term ‘Archangel’ allay your concerns?” Peter stops and gives Radclyf a knowing smile. “Shall we convene in my room, or one of yours? I was informed that your team is here with you and I have vital information to share.”

  Radclyf's mind is racing as he ponders the situation. His cover is obviously blown, seemingly also that of his team. “My room will be good.” At least there, he knows, well he hopes, it's safe.

  Convening is his room with his team members, Radclyf feels much more at ease. Peter allows himself to be frisked, w
hich further relaxes Radclyf.

  “Okay Peter, what is this information that we must hear?” Radclyf feels much more in control, being in his own room with his team present.

  Peter takes a seat and, while quite nonchalantly lighting his pipe, starts his tale. “There is an attack planned on the alien spaceship by a group of French rebels claiming to be a resistance of some sorts. This attack is not in our best interests, and must be stopped. By our interests, I am speaking globally, not just of Russian interests. I have full details of the group's main hide out and have been authorized to accompany you, should you desire my presence.”

  He suddenly pulls his pipe in half, a small roll of paper falls into his hand. Smiling at a now-standing Radclyf, he holds out the paper for him to take. The small piece of paper has a signature on it, 'Cindy'.

  That night finds the four-man SAS team in full night-time camouflage gear, following Peter, who is also similarly clad. Making their way to the warehouse district by van, the team loads up, and then travels the last two blocks on foot. Peter points to one particular building, a two-story warehouse. From here on in, it is Radclyf that takes the lead. With a few hand gestures, he gives his orders. The five men cautiously make their way to the building and get inside in virtual silence. Ever so slowly, the team makes their way toward an area of obvious activity. Inside the well-lit warehouse there is a group of about thirty men, sitting on various crates. These men are no ordinary dock workers; many have various weapons slung over their shoulders or within easy reach. The leader of this band is doing a great job of extolling the reasons for attacking the alien spacecraft. His plan is so basic; the five hidden men can’t believe how gullible these rebels are. Really? Just drive a truck up the ramp and into the spaceship, jump out, and kill them all? Radclyf has never understand fanatics. He signals for his men, and Peter, to position themselves. Radclyf watches the group of would-be rebels as Paul, Henry, and Jim, get into position. Each team member, once situated, quietly places extra ammo cartridges within easy reach, as they closely watch the time. Paul keeps Radclyf and Peter, who is positioned near him, in a clear line of sight.

  Exactly three minutes later, all hell breaks loose. The four men of the SAS simultaneously execute a lethal barrage of fire from their MP5Ks. Peter joins the bedlam a split second later, with a borrowed MP5K. Bullet-riddled rebels fall to the ground, many oblivious as to who, or what, has killed them. A few manage to reach for their weapons before succumbing to the overpowering onslaught of the attack. Each SAS member maintains a constant barrage of fire. Having worked together for so long, they automatically cover each other during reloading. So efficient is the team, that the noise of gunfire goes unabated until the last rebel falls. Not a single rebel returns fire, not even the leader, who now lies on the floor coughing up blood as he dies from multiple bullet wounds. Leaving behind a special package, the five men exit as quietly and efficiently as they came. By the time they get back to their van, sirens can be heard in the distance. Driving a well-planned escape route, as outlined by Peter, the team makes it back to the hotel without incident.

  Once inside the hotel they all await further instructions while they follow the news. Radclyf, though still wary of Peter, finds that against his better judgment, he likes the man. He gives Paul a slight nod of thanks for covering him back at the warehouse.

  Location:

  Manhattan Island

  New York

  The morning news carries a grand story of a gang war in France over drugs. It seems that two rival gangs killed each other off during the night over a few kilograms of heroin, which was found at the scene. The French media compares the gang land style killings with American and Mexican drug cartels. George’s family heads out that morning to the mess hall for a community breakfast.

  As they eat, Lisa just shakes her head at the news. “You would think, with aliens having landed on Earth, that perhaps these gangs would, well, just stop killing each other.”

  “Well, dear, I don't know what to tell you.” George gazes around, and recognizes a few people from yesterday.

  After breakfast, George smiles as he gives Johnny's hair its customary ruffle. Lisa receives a small peck on her cheek as he gets up.

  “Hey, mister, is that all I get?” She says with a little disdain. Lisa stands, and puts her hands on her hips. There are a few chuckles from nearby people.

  With mounting discomfort, George glances around at the others in the room. Under the unwanted scrutiny of the many onlookers, he gives his wife the attention she wants, and deserves. A few people cheer them on as they hug and kiss. She smiles at her man, who is now completely embarrassed. “Much better, now go and be safe.”

  As George heads to the alien ship, all he can think about is his family. Once there, he is surprised to find that he and a few others are directed to a different area. More people are trying out the suits, most with limited success. George wonders why the Gamin are going to so much effort. He chats with the others about yesterday’s experiences. Some of them talk about experimenting, creating objects not on the picture boards, and getting mixed results.

  This time, George and his colleagues are led toward slightly larger suits. These units look like peeled open fruit, as their exoskeletons are exposed. George, along with the others, is directed to enter these new suits. Stepping up to the open suit, George can see that he simply needs to turn around and step back up and into it. As he does so, the sides of the suit wrap around him while a helmet swivels over and down. Soon, he is fully encased, from the helmet over his head to his feet that rest on thin foot plates. The same color sensation washes over George, but this time he is ready for it, and does not get as dizzy. The scrolling marquee on the faceplate is in English, which shocks George. It is a status update on the suit including power, damage, and other numbers that seem to represent onboard storage, but he can’t figure out what the numbers themselves mean. Mixed with this, are symbols which scroll up and down the faceplate in an endless parade of gibberish.

  This morning, the group of five suited people walks down the ramp toward a pile of rocks. Under the direction of an alien, each creates a tool from yesterday’s list and activates it at the rock pile. George is shocked by what happens. The rocks he points his tool toward, just vanish. Symbols and numbers scroll up and down his visor. About an hour later, the group is directed to another area where they create a yet another tool. As a group, they manage to make a rail, not unlike a train track. Again, this is accompanied by a scrolling marquee of symbols and numbers.

  After a break for lunch, an alien approaches the group, and in excellent English, explains what the team is going to manufacture. George muses to himself. It would seem that the crash course in the suit’s operation is over.

  The afternoon finds the group heading, unsupervised, toward an area near the spacecraft’s massive ramp. By the evening, they have crafted a pretty ordinary looking train line beside the ramp. It points toward one of the alien-constructed bridges. Now George understands what's going on. They are going to make a rail interchange for supplies that come in. It also dawns on him, that this puts them at risk from Gamin haters.

  As the sun starts to set, an alien voice startles George. The suit’s headpiece relays the alien’s message in the now familiar metallic tone. “Return the suits; the day’s duties are complete. You will continue in the morning.”

  The group heads back to the spacecraft. The bodysuits do not feel heavy or awkward, thus, the day's efforts have not been overtaxing. “These suits are amazing,” George comments to the others as he steps out of it. He is not sure what triggered the suit to open, but he hopes to figure that out too.

  “Yeah, but they give me a headache,” responds one of the men.

  “Just relax,” replies George. “I find that the suit doesn’t make me feel ill if I simply clear my mind”

  “Maybe for you, George, but it's pretty obvious that fewer of us can use these things than even these aliens expected.” The man retorts as he motions to a row of
unused suits.

  George cannot remember the man’s name, and stares blankly at him. “Yeah, you're right,” he responds a moment later, embarrassed at forgetting his team mate’s name. “Well, see you guys in the morning,” he adds in an upbeat tone, and then leaves.

  Getting to his quarters, George finds a note instead of his family. Instant concern is eased as he reads it quickly. 'We are at the mess hall. It seems I have been recruited as a cook!' Oh no; he knows that will not make her happy. He heads to the mess hall at a brisk pace. A cook? Indeed!

  Expecting to find his wife in an unhappy mood, he is pleasantly surprised to see that she is laughing with a handful of other women as they prepare meals for those in the room. Over one hundred people comfortably occupy this mess hall, creating a pleasant atmosphere. Those that demand to be served, or dare to comment negatively on the service, are soon put in their place. Lisa has rallied all the women to do their assigned tasks, but not to take any belittling from those being served. Their son Johnny has finished his meal, and is seated nearby. George smiles at his wife as the events of the last few days are eased from his mind.

  Later that night, George spends some time chatting with their son about his day. The boy has been playing with the wall screen, and has found a number of games and educational channels. Finally, he is able to convince Johnny that it's late and they should all retire to bed. He heads off grudgingly.

  Looking at his wife, he wonders where to start. He has wanted to talk about his day and blurts out quite excitedly. “The Gamin have us making a rail line from the spaceship to one of the bridges. It seems that not very many people can use the suits. The suits can detect thoughts and make tools just by thinking about them. Using these tools, the suit can absorb raw materials, and then make things. The technology is amazing and even though I use a suit I have no idea how it works.” George wonders about the science behind the suits. The scrolling marquee of information is starting to make sense.