A Beginner's Guide to Invading Earth

by Gerhard Gehrke

  Parked on the side of the alley was a row of floating pods each the size of a portable toilet, linked together like tiny railroad cars. The pods themselves were overflowing with plastic and similar debris slated for recycling or disposal. A hovering vehicle no larger than an electric golf cart was attached at one end. Jordan got in. The bench seat was low to the craft's floor, and it made Jordan feel like she was stealing a toddler's go cart. She pushed at every raised knob on the dash and on the column of the twin-pistol grip steering wheel. Something started to hum, and she threw a dash lever up. The cart glided forward with the pods in tow.

  She soon understood why no one had tried to take the hovercraft in their escape. It was slow. It drove slower than a car might on a round-and-round kiddie ride at a carnival.

  She hit the toggle again and stopped.

  “You'll regret this,” she said.

  She did a U-turn and floored it, heading back towards the chaos. She puttered up a ramp towards the plaza at the front of the terminal. A last handful of fleeing citizens gave her an odd look. She was the only one heading back.

  Flemming continued to hide behind the broken security bot, his barrier now fortified with a pair of stunned Bunnie that must have tried to rush him before getting shot down. At least six of the large spiders sniped away at him with their hand weapons, keeping behind pillars and structural corners to avoid the policeman's sporadic but accurate fire. The Bunnie shouted in their clicky, hissy language, either at Flemming or each other or to themselves, but none moved from their cover.

  Much of the plaza was clear of anyone moving about but for a few citizens crawling for safety. Jordan drove the rubbish train onto the plaza and immediately drew fire from some of the invaders. As she reached the center of the plaza, the stunner fire ceased, as Bunnie and Flemming alike watched her putter forward like a float in a parade. After a moment, the Bunnie figured out she was heading straight for Flemming. One pointed at her and shouted an order. She became their sole target. Yellow bolts pattered about the hovercraft. Jordan didn't have much cover but got down to the cart's floor with one hand still on the wheel. A Bunnie jumped behind the train and climbed aboard, crawling across the pods filled with recyclables and to the roof of the cart. The thing was so large he threatened to tip the vehicle over. The front safety bumper scraped along the street surface.

  “Piss off!” she shouted.

  Flemming nailed him with a pair of blaster shots, and the thing flopped down hard on the cart's roof. The Bunnie's wiggling legs dangled around the front and sides of the hovercraft and almost down to the ground. Jordan could barely see where she was driving. All she could see was spider. She yanked on a couple of hairy legs. The thing must have been precariously balanced, as he slid off the car with a second tug. She pulled to a stop next to the dead bot and the cop.

  “Get in,” Jordan yelled.

  Flemming dragged Ceph around to the back of the cart. The incoming fire from the Bunnie continued, but none of the invaders moved on them, and Jordan's recycling train provided good cover. Still, there were gaps between cars, and the front cart had little protection. Several yellow bolts snapped at Jordan every time she sat up.

  “Hurry,” she said.

  Flemming stuffed the other cop in the back seat and climbed aboard. Said something in a grumbly language.

  “You're welcome,” she said.

  She flipped the lever forward, and they began to move at a crawl. She started to make a wide turn, pointing the cart away from the terminal. She weaved, keeping the trailing bins behind her like a shield. The Bunnie fire died down. Jordan chanced a peek over the dash and corrected her course to avoid running into a small group of webbed citizens, all clumped together like a sticky snow drift. From behind, the invaders were breaking cover and coming after them.

  “Hey cop,” she said. She pointed.

  Flemming didn't understand but did see the Bunnie. He pointed in a direction for her to drive and leaned out to fire his weapon. He hit three of them, sending the Bunnie to the ground. Others broke off pursuit and took refuge behind their piles of victims. Flemming kept firing, keeping the ones still up at bay, and shooting the fallen Bunnie a second time for good measure. They puttered to one end of the plaza and started down a service ramp that descended below the primary street level of the Commons. The cart didn't want to go any faster even on the decline.

  Jordan sat up so she could see where she was driving. She bounced in her chair and tried to watch Flemming blaze away with his weapon, the fear from before replaced with excitement. The cop barely stopped firing long enough to pop a small disk onto the handle of the gun. The disk vanished. The gun flashed once, recharged, and Flemming continued to pop off blasts of yellow to their rear.

  “Nice shooting!” Jordan said. She whupped and laughed as they drove into a tunnel.

  Flemming settled back into the cart and offered her a calm smile. He said something demurely.

  Jordan nodded, said, “Now please tell me there's more cops we can pick up somewhere so we can kick those guys' asses!”

  ***

  Not-Kim watched them leave. He stood in the shadows of the terminal near a tall gate, a group of Bunnie at his side. The handful of his soldiers that had been stunned would soon snap out of it, and they had put up a plausible show of force. The Grey hadn't lied about a few things. The Commons law enforcement was woefully unprepared for anything like their arrival. The Commons weapons provided were nonlethal and were proving useful in capturing the populace. And once the citizens that remained were incapacitated, the city and its technology would be theirs. Which included access to every world connected to the Commons transportation network. All thanks to the Grey. Maybe the little creature could be trusted.

  Heady stuff for a fifth-generation, ship-born Bunnie who had never seen his own world. He had been raised on the prospect of this conquest, weaned on tales of wrongs done to his race, and had munched fruit with his brothers and sisters as they spoke of what they would do once they made it to the Galactic Commons. His fellow Bunnie could barely contain themselves, fidgeting and bobbing like newly-hatched spiderlings.

  But Not-Kim maintained his composure. He didn't allow himself to fall into a gleeful frenzy as had so many of his brothers. Someone had to do the thinking, or the invasion could still fail. Once the translators had switched off, Not-Kim activated the Bunnie's own com devices.

  “Arms One and Two, status?” Not-Kim said.

  “Station secure,” a voice said. “Lower levels to this place are extensive, and we haven't gone down there yet.”

  “Time for that later,” he said. “Arms Three and Four?”

  “Front of the house looks clear. Reviving our brothers and locking the place down.”

  Not-Kim checked in with Arms Five through Seven. Each squad sounded off, ready, and in place. “Arm Eight?” he said.

  “Arm Eight here.”

  “Status.”

  “The policeman and the female human are in sight. Moving very slowly.”

  “Good,” Not-Kim said. “Keep up with them. Don't let them see you.”

  “Acknowledged,” the Arm Eight squad leader said. The Bunnie all knew how to hide in the shadows. They had been practicing for so long.

  CHAPTER 39

  THE COP WAS HUMMING to himself, a serene expression across his mottled face, as if Jordan were driving him to church rather than away from an army of invading bugs. The tunnel led them to a street clear of any Bunnie. She looked back, didn't see anyone following them. She considered the cop sitting next to her. Flemming's humming sounded like the fizz of a shaken soda can with its tab barely pulled opened, but there was a melody there, a meandering tune that fascinated her as it was the first alien song she had ever heard. That was when the translators came back on with a pop at the back of Jordan's head, where the unit was tucked in its pouch. There came a rush of information inside her brain as the tech processed every sign and sound from the world around her. She worked her jaw to relieve the pressure.
>
  “Oh the noise,” Ceph said weakly from the back seat.

  “How are you feeling?” Jordan said.

  “Head fuzzy like-” Ceph began.

  “He's fine,” Flemming said. “Thank you for coming to rescue me.”

  “You know, I'm not sure how much of a rescue it was,” Jordan said. “You were holding them off just fine.”

  “But you came to get us out,” Flemming said. “And I'm grateful.”

  Jordan kept her eyes on the road. “I didn't really have anyplace else to go.”

  “We'll give you the orientation tour one day,” Flemming said.

  “It'll be like your second home,” Ceph said. “Because home is where your [organ that circulates blood] is.”

  They all put their fingers to their translator pouches. A strange buzz had kicked in and went away just as fast. An error in the translation, with a rough approximation on the computer's part to make up for the glitch.

  “That was weird,” Jordan said.

  “Bugs in the system,” Ceph said. “Kinks not ironed out.”

  She corrected the trash train's course, driving down the center of the street. They now merged underneath a tram line that ran overhead. Signs around her offered a variety of named destinations, none of which sounded familiar or desirable. “Mineral Exchange,” one sign read. “Parasite Gleaning,” read another. Each had its own off ramp. But Flemming pointed them forward, so forward Jordan drove. “Commons Security,” an overhead sign read. Ahead rose a tall building, almost invisible in its drabness compared to its neighbors.

  “Here's our headquarters,” Flemming said. “Best let me speak to my people.”

  As the front of the security building came into view, a group of five citizens awaited them. They were in a huddle, not speaking, watching the main street, the ramps that looped to and fro, and the sky above. They all held weapons and wore uniforms. The fuzz. When the group of cops saw the cart with the trash train come close with Jordan at the wheel, they pointed their blasters at her.

  Flemming got out and walked in front of the still-moving vehicle. “She's with us,” he said.

  “It's a human,” one of the waiting cops said. “They brought the invaders.”

  “No they didn't,” Flemming said. None of the weapons lowered. “It's all part some some kind of ruse.”

  “The human has his mind controlled,” another of the five said. “He's her puppet.”

  Ceph was out of the craft as well. “We've all been played along like [cultural musical instruments].”

  Distortion again came over the translators. Fingers tapped the null-space pouches where the translators resided, as if they were radios receiving a shaky signal. Some of the cops put their hands into the pouches to confirm that the units were still in place.

  “What is going on?” the first cop said.

  “One of the Greys' brood leaders has sabotaged much of the Commons systems,” Flemming said, “including the translation services, which appear to be working again, more or less, at least for now. Security doesn't seem to be up, and the transportation system is under the Grey's control. It brought the Bunnie here.”

  “How is that even possible?” another of the security team asked.

  “I don't know,” Flemming said. “But at least we can speak to one another, and that's a start. The city is under attack, and we have to stop the Bunnie.” After letting that sink in, Flemming said, “Is this it? Is anyone else coming?” He examined the group of volunteers. They had their side arms and little else.

  The five looked at each other. The first shrugged. “I think we're it.”

  “I signal a general alert and only five show up,” Flemming said.

  Jordan saw Flemming start to quiver. He turned away from the cops, fists tight. His face started to sag until the cop breathed deep, exhaled, fought for calm. His normal tranquil expression returned. “Just five,” he said, nodding. “Plus Detective Ceph, myself, and a human. It will have to do. First, let's get the city alarms to shut up so anyone that hasn't been captured by the Bunnie can listen for actual instructions.”

  The group of five all nodded, still keeping a cautious eye on Jordan. At least their weapons were now lowered. Jordan got out of the train and stayed close to Ceph.

  They entered the security building. The lobby and the reception area were empty.

  ***

  On their heels and just out of sight, Bunnie crept out from under a causeway and from the shadows of a nearby tower. They moved silently forward, congregating near the front of the security building, careful not to be seen. There they waited for orders, fat abdomens bobbing in anticipation of what was to come.

  ***

  Jeff paced around the outside of the chamber, the Grey held close to his chest like an evil baby that would attack him if his guard dropped. Oliop continued to examine the silver ring with tentative touches and prods, accompanied by the occasional “Ooh!” He did something to bring up a floating screen filled with data, but Oliop was more interested in the mechanics of the ring itself rather than its software. Jeff tried to read some of the words and numbers on the screen. Like any program, its output was meant to be understood by someone. Jeff refused to believe the Grey was smarter than him. That was when the Grey took advantage of a slightly relaxed grip and bit down on Jeff's arm.

  Jeff screamed and dropped the Grey. It ran. The Grey also spoke into the wrist com just under its skin. “Whistle, I'm at the translation hub. The human is-”

  Jeff pounced atop the Grey, the crash knocking the wind out of the little alien. Its wrist com went dark. Still, the Grey squirmed and twisted. With its chin it bonked its wrist again, activating the unit. “I need help!” it screamed before Jeff could get the little creature under control.

  “Oliop, find something for this guy,” Jeff said.

  “Nothing in here,” Oliop said. “But he called Whistle. We should leave. There's maintenance closets nearby, and we can find something there for the Grey.”

  They left the bunker. Oliop took them to a municipal tool shed not far away. A row of maintenance bots stood idle in the dark space. Once Oliop hit the lights, Jeff saw a room full of tools and maintenance equipment. A spool of insulated wire worked wonders in wrapping the Grey up into a helpless bundle.

  “Don't make me gag you,” Jeff said.

  The Grey snapped at him. Jeff rummaged about the shed and found a towel and wrapped it around the Grey's mouth. It still fussed noisily, but it could no longer bite.

  “Look,” Jeff said to Oliop. “I don't know much about this tech you have here. But what else can the phone device under the skin do that I should know about? Does it have a GPS? A tracking device?”

  Oliop nodded. “They are fully functioning communication devices and can give health and biological examinations of the being that wears them. They also provide location context data with a wide variety of applications. They can also be hacked.” He beamed with that last factoid.

  “Context data? So tracking. Whistle could follow us wherever we go with him.”

  “Com system has been down along with translation services.” Oliop scrunched his face, thought about it. “Or so I would assume.”

  With Whistle possibly inbound, the maintenance closet felt smaller than before, with the door and no other exit. The door looked less robust than the one Whistle had torn to shreds. The powered-down bots offered no suggestions.

  “We can't leave the Grey here. He's our [advantageous game piece].”

  Buzz. Crackle. Again he heard the small distortion, with the translator doing its best to compensate and fill in the gap. They both tapped at their translator pouches. Jeff had said “trump card,” but the translator didn't like that metaphor. The distortion went away as quickly as it had come on.

  “Let's get out of here,” Jeff said.

  As they exited the maintenance shed, they took cover as a pair of Bunnie jumped past, heading somewhere in a big hurry. The invaders hadn't noticed them. Jeff and Oliop looked around. The way
was clear. The Grey proved to be easy cargo to carry now that it was immobilized. Even its scent glands had quit producing. Maybe it was out of gas. It hung in Jeff's arms with a tired angry look on its face.

  “Is there any way to contact Jordan?” Jeff asked.

  “She doesn't have a communication device,” Oliop said. ”Neither do you.”

  “We should find her. And what about that cop? Can you call him?”

  Oliop tried his communicator. “System still down.”

  “Then how did the Grey use his under-the-skin phone thingy?”

  “Admin override that still works in spite of emergency.” Oliop shrugged. “And we can't borrow his.”

  “The transportation terminal was overrun. I'm not sure if we stand a chance going there and shutting that system down. That's possible, though, isn't it?”

  Oliop shrugged some more, considered, shrugged again.

  “Not many options left,” Jeff said.

  Looking around, Jeff saw plenty of options, the city and its trails and avenues open before them, ways both wide and narrow heading high and low in every which direction. Jeff picked one, firmed up his grip on the Grey, and gestured with a jerk of his head for Oliop to follow. Oliop hesitated.

  “But that's the way the Bunnie went,” Oliop said.

  “Wouldn't it be a good idea to know what they're up to?”

  [TEXT DIVISION WITH ASCENDING NUMBER > 39]

  THE GREY CONTINUED to test the strength of the wire that bound it. It held him fast. The towel that gagged it was also irritating as the Grey found that it enjoyed biting the human, not so much for the flavor but for the screams. That was one sound that didn't require any translation. The Grey wanted to hear it again. Now Oliop and the human were on the move. While they had no real chance of doing much to the invading Bunnie, it rankled the Grey to not be able to watch the Commons fall firsthand.

  Had Whistle heard the message? No doubt. But would she find them? In time she would.

  There was another action it could take. The Grey activated its sub-dermal phone with a small flex of an arm muscle, as well practiced a move as a human's opposable thumb on an entertainment device's remote. The Grey couldn't speak, but it could work its neck glands. Soon, a cloying cloud of complex smells wafted about the Grey, around Jeff Abel and Oliop, and in through the communication device on its arm.