by Dan Henk
There are no visible marks on the bodies. I glide in closer and grasp the edges of a helmet. I gently turn, and it starts to lift, the seams at the neck snapping open. A milky yellowish-green substance floats out. I’m startled for a moment and pull away from the helmet, the stream of fluid trailing out after me as I drift away.
I see no need to examine alien remains. I turn to view the front of the room. Looking down, I see a large, roughly oval screen at the base of the nose, a static streaked view of the outside still visible. It looks like it was probably suspended in midair until the main power went out. Now it rests in a crooked slouch against the front wall. The image on the screen skips, but evidently it’s a frontal view. Occupying most of the screen is what apparently is the back end of the wormhole. Murkier and far less elegant, the fissure is a smaller gulf, encircled by a revolving husk of brown haze. The lifeless shell of my ship drifts off to the left. Two blips appear in the wormhole. They grow bigger as they approach, maturing into two ships, and headed for the craft I came from. They appear to be Al’lak. The sides start to glow, and bursts of plasma spew out. A minute later, the screen bleaches out.
The light fades, and a darker image of space fills the screen. My exploratory craft is nowhere to be seen. Here’s an interesting development. The Al’lak ships turn and start heading toward me. One disappears from view, followed almost immediately by a violent jarring of the room. The force throws me into the back wall. I bounce off and fly forward into the chair, rebounding yet again as I sail upwards. Flailing my arms, I manage to break the trajectory and swim toward the ceiling. Grabbing hold of a loop of cable, I curl up and wait.
After a few minutes, a figure in a silver suit slowly floats down into the room, a dual-cylindered pack strapped to his back. It continually releases small bursts of translucent material from its bottom vents. That would probably be his source of propulsion. The helmet slowly rotates from right to left, scanning the premises. A small, tubular device rests in the creature’s right hand. And that would probably be his weapon.
He drifts over and examines the closest dead pilot, the one whose helmet I cracked open. A slimy cloud, resembling yellowish mucus, orbits the head. The Al’lak turns its attention to the one in the center and drifts toward it. Another similar figure floats down into the chamber, followed by a third. I wait until the last one is directly below me before pushing off and swimming toward it. The creature looks up a moment too late. My fist plunges through the brittle helmet, my fingers bursting out the back in a slimy sheen of gore. I splay my hand on its chest and pull, my fist rupturing out is a spray of green slime. A blinding flash flares up on my left, and I’m thrown into the wall. The two suited creatures are facing me and pointing their weapons in my direction. I notice that the Al’lak I just slaughtered is holding a familiar tube in his stiff death grip. I lunge for it. Just as my fingers close around the weapon, I’m slammed backwards into the wall by another burst. Glancing down, I see the tube in my palm, the rigid fingers of the dead alien still gripping it. Globs of fluid float out of the severed wrist, freezing almost instantly as they hit the vacuum into a glittering string. Another burst of light envelopes me, and I will the cylinder to fire. The upper right quarter of one of the aliens disappears. Light envelopes me again. As it fades, I look down and see my hand cupped in an empty embrace. I vault at the remaining Al’lak, trying to spin ferociously in midair. Something catches my foot, throwing me into a spin. I whip my arms wildly in an attempt at propulsion. My hand grabs a corner of railing and I swing down, trying to land a punch on the creature. I’m not quite close enough, and it slides off the helmet in a glancing blow. The alien flies back, his form careening wildly as he does. The helmet is dented, and he appears stunned. I swim forward, arc back, and punch. A slushy crunch, and my fist sails through his head. Pulling my hand free, the limp corpse floats backwards in a trail of drifting slime.
I peddle back into the shadows and wait for more. A few minutes pass, and nothing moves. The cabin is deathly still, the hovering cadavers floating in silence, a trail of ooze coiling out behind them. I should leave before reinforcements arrive. Twisting toward the recessed corridor, I start swimming.
The passageway is longer than I thought and dimly lit. Whatever the point of entry, I can’t see it. I round a few bends and start to wonder if I’m still in the same corridor. There is no way this ship can be that big. I can’t see anything in all this blackness. I keep swimming forward, trying to stay along the wall. It abruptly disappears on the left, and I backpedal, slowing myself to a stop. Grasping the smooth edge, I peer around the corner. Nothing. A faded glow illuminates a curving passage of molten olive walls and smooth black flooring. I swim down it slowly, passing through a faintly illuminated stretch—from what light source I have no idea— and into another darkened recess. I strain my eyes and barely make out a curved wall. This is apparently a dead end. I glance up and notice a ribbed, tubular tunnel extending a few feet. It ends with what appears to be a circular hatch. The contours are foggy in the low light, but it’s clear the tube is sealed off with something. I crouch down, tuck in my head, and leap straight up.
I collide roughly with the barrier, the force throwing me back down to the floor. I rebound, floating halfway up the overhead tunnel. Well, that got me nowhere. I don’t think I can muster nearly enough inertia. Swimming farther up, I brace my arms against the narrow walls and kick the hatch with my feet. The force shoves me back, my arms raking trenches down the walls as I’m shoved backwards. I pull my arms in and swim back up. Positioning myself again, I kick the portal even harder. I’m shoved backwards again, but the gateway gives a little. This is going to be a tedious process.
It takes a good ten tries, but on the last kick, the cover flies up, splintering into sharp fragments as it relinquishes its hold. A grimy smog gushes out, a pale yellow light filtering through the haze. I swim up, drifting through the murk and into a featureless, circular room. The texture of the walls looks Al’lak, the floor marbled in a white-on-black pattern that is all too familiar. That’s strange. A weak gravity pulls me down, planting my feet on the ground.
The chamber harbors one circular doorway directly opposite me. As I slowly approach it, the curved segments spiral open, the gateway unfurling to reveal an Al’lak. He holds aloft a small silvery tube, pointed directly at me. The tip glows to life, and a blast of energy slams into my shoulder. I’m knocked back, the weak gravity accelerating my retreat. I run at my assailant. A second blast hits me in the thigh, flipping me over in a slow motion back flip. The side of my head crashes into the floor. Were I still human, the impact would have snapped my neck. But as it is it just pissed me off. I crawl to my feet and lunge for the creature, a further blast slapping my shoulder blade. My face bounces off the floor again. I drag my head upright mere inches from the Al’lak. He starts to back off in panic, and I fling out my arm in an attempt to grab him. My hand closes around his ankle, and I yank backwards, wrenching him from his feet and into a clumsy tumble. He paws at the ground, trying to get away, but the little sucker is mine now! I haul him in, inch by inch, until he is almost under me. Then I release him. He scuffles to his feet, and just as he is about to dart forward, I vigorously swat the back of his helmet. He flies forward, bashing into the wall with a satisfying crunch. The limp body falls backwards in slow motion, a string of yellowish ooze trailing through the air behind. I step around the dead creature, snatching the weapon out of his stiff fingers as I pass, and enter the room beyond.
I recognize this ship. It’s almost a twin of the vessel I flew out of that hidden base. The interior looks a little sleeker—probably a newer model, but it might function just the same. Climbing into the cockpit, I take a seat, delve my fingers into the gelatinous controls, and instruct it to move forward. The craft responds sluggishly, as if some brake is on. Does it even have a brake? It’s still tethered to the vehicle below! I’m an idiot! That explains a whole hell of a lot! How do I break the connection?
The air shimmers in
a faint ripple to my right, and in a twinkling glow two Al’laks appear, looking way more surprised than me. I point the weapon at them and fire two shots. One loses a hand, the other half of its helmet. Streams of fluid drift out of both new ruptures, freezing into crystalline globs almost instantly. This ship was probably much warmer, until I broke into it. I didn’t realize I’d affected the temperature so much until now. It’s probably been dropping ever since I broke in. My concentration momentarily drifts, and I spring back into the present only after realizing that one of the Al’lak isn’t dead. I didn’t hit the hand with the weapon in it, and even now he’s pointing it at me! Too late to move, I’m thrown out of the chair and into the far wall. I snap back with a flurry of blasts, this time destroying an entire arm in a ball of fire. I discharge another round, and the head dissolves. I sit for a moment, running scenarios through my head.
How are they getting in here?
Do they have some mother ship in close proximity?
Whatever the case, my best bet is to get out of here, stat!
Climbing back into the control chair, I twist my fingers around in the viscous depression, trying desperately to figure out what function releases the ship below. Red symbols resembling hieroglyphs scroll across the screen. I can’t read any of them. For all I know I’m opening and closing hatches, flicking through lights, and doing who knows what else to the engine. A symbol on the lower left flashes red, I feel a slight vibration, and the starry view through the screen starts to slide downwards. I must have released the ship below! I twist my fingers and steer upwards. The wormhole comes into view, and I head for it.
“Who is this?”
The voice booms in my head, the sound deafening. The other ship must be trying to communicate! I keep flying straight for the vortex. A ball of plasma slides by, starting as a distant glow on my side screen and progressing into a blinding inferno as it passes. They’re apparently firing at me. That was quick! I start zigzagging my path. Seething firestorms of energy open up all around as the beckoning white tendrils of the wormhole start to encompass me. I’m very close now! Twisting my hand like mad in the gel, I try to operate the rear cannons. The craft twists and rotates, my frenzied dabbling feeding a wealth of conflicting instructions. Suddenly, flashes of light emit from my hindquarters. Catching the pursuing ship by surprise, the blast shears off the left wing, throwing the ship into a spin. I delve into the eye of the wormhole. A red symbol on the lower edge of the screen starts flashing. I glance at it, and the projection changes views. I now see the broken hatch I entered through. It’s a gaping hole, and somehow it’s affecting the integrity of the ship. The edges around the rupture start to peel back. Fuck! I wildly manipulate the controls. The projection flashes through various views, behind the ship, beside, in front. It’s all a swirling, milky vortex. I can’t tell what is up and what is down. The view settles on the open breach again. Now it’s a steadily widening fissure, the skin peeling back like a melon. The projection wavers, deteriorating into lines of static. Then everything goes to hell. The surrounding walls swell, groaning with the stress. With a piercing rip they pull apart, the jagged scraps spiraling outwards. The pieces of machinery cleave apart, their gored innards pouring out in an unsettling monstrosity of veins and sinew. Rupturing scraps whip around me. I huddle forward in my seat. A mammoth chunk cracks me in the forehead, throwing me back. The floor pulls away beneath me, the restraining straps finally giving way as the chair surrenders me to the storm. A squall of flailing wind and battering debris, and I’m cast out into a void of absolute silence.
Time passes in uneven gaps, breathlessly fast one moment, receding to a crawl the next. How long have I been here? Hours? Days? It’s hard to think straight, to grasp onto anything tangible. I feel dizzy... a massive head rush... but there is nothing... no end...
I wake up with a dull pain in my head. My eyelids unclench slowly. Something is pulling on me. I feel the tug on the shirt around my shoulders. There’s a... blur... hanging over me...
“You think you’re fucking funny?”
“What...”
My words slur. I’m still drunk.
“I said, ‘Get the fuck up’!”
“No... Who....”
My vision is resolving into a sinewy, very angry former skinhead.
I vaguely remember lobbing a slur his way earlier. It didn’t even amount to anything—and he started it! My vision goes black for a minute, and pain shoots up my nose.
“Little fucking punk!”
Where is everybody? I passed out in a bed upstairs, but other people stay here...
Pain shoots up my nose again, spreading out in piercing throbs through my cheeks. I feel a cool trickle running from my nose... I’m bleeding. I glance to my side. Snuggled up in the covers next to me is a sword cane, the blade partially exposed.
“You want to stab me, punk? Huh? Go for it.”
“No... Get off me...”
He’s kneeling on my chest, pulling me up by my shirt. Bigger, meaner, and way more sober. A dim blur, a shock of agony, and blood shoots out. Again. And again. Reality blurs... It almost doesn’t hurt anymore...
Then his huge friend is pulling him off, and I stumble out of the lower bunk bed, spotting the door jam with my blood as I round the corner.
I start to fly down the steps, and they dissolve. Darkness washes over me, and I fade out...
I’m in a beat up Honda Accord. It’s twenty years old, held together by stubbornness and rust as much as anything else. My girlfriend is crying. After three years together, I didn’t even have the guts to break up with her. She had to ask, and I offered a tepid reply that said nothing. But my face said everything. I feel like my heart is about to break. This is the best girl I’ve ever known...but she just isn’t the one for me. I’m biting my lower lip, running a screenplay of the last three years with her through my head. I can’t do this...It’s too hard...but I can’t go on living like this. Like a coward, I look down. I can’t watch her sobbing without breaking down myself. My throat is a knotted lump. I feel overheated and awkward. I want to be anywhere but here. Her tear-stained face starts to fall away at the edges, my vision collapsing into a smaller and smaller tunnel...but the pain stays. Even as reality fades.
CHAPTER XXII
LET’S TRY AGAIN
Where am I? How long have I been here? Am I still in the same body? I feel sensation, but I can’t see anything. Something hard, like a floor, grounds my feet. A weak source of gravity holds me down. I start to walk forward and immediately bump face first into something. I run my hands along the invisible barricade. It’s a smooth, solid wall, stretching out as far as I can feel. I back up and punch it. My fist slams into the obstacle. Not even a scratch, and completely soundless. I open my hand and run my fingers along the surface. No depression, totally smooth. I keep my hand stretched out and walk. A good ten minutes go by, my fingers dragging along the wall. I step back, turn around, and walk. A few feet, and I encounter more of the same. For all I know, I’m going around in circles. I turn away from the wall and head in the opposite direction, making it a few feet before I bump into another barrier. I brush my fingertips up and down the barricade. It’s more of the same. I drop my hand and wait. Time passes. It seems like an eternity.
Light sparks in front of me, and a figure materializes. It’s an Al’lak, probably a hologram. They all look similar to me, but this one looks very close to the creature that sent me into the wormhole.
“Are you coping with all this?”
I’m almost positive this is the same creature.
“Yes, I am.”
That answers that.
“What of our trade?”
“It looks like you killed a few of our men, stole a ship, and stranded yourself inside the [indecipherable] of a wormhole. Is that [indecipherable] part of the trade?”
“You weren’t exactly upfront. Where does this put us?”
“I have a new proposal for you.”
“Is it anything like your last
one?”
“Much better.”
“And that is?”
“We’ll drop you back on Earth.”
“What are the stipulations? What do you want?”
“No one has ever lasted very long in your body. You seem to have survived all of [indecipherable.] If we could understand why, it could be worth the effort.”
“So, you monitor me, and maybe eventually pick me up again.”
“You could look at it like that. Or you could look at it like an opportunity to return to your home world and exist however you choose.”
I don’t trust this thing. I’m convinced he has a hidden agenda. Unfortunately, I don’t have much of a choice.
“You will have to choose quickly.”
“Why?”
“The [indecipherable] aren’t for you to know, but if you take too long, this will be out of my hands.”
“Why Earth?”
The tone changes, as if he’s annoyed.
“You need a familiar environment. It’s your best chance.”
“Chance for what?”
“I’m done. Yes or no.”
“Yes.”
And with that, the figure disappears, leaving me in isolation once again. Time passes. I have no idea how long. Maybe hours, maybe days. I start to fade, dreams becoming reality.
I’m fourteen and arranging green army men inside a concrete block, another block behind sealing it like an oven. I pour gasoline over the soldiers and light a match. Standing back, I watch the figures slowly melt. My military dad opens the back door, and I scramble to hide my little game, tugging the blocks down with me as I hide below the wooden porch.
