INCURSION - an ALIEN OMNIBUS

by Chris Lowry

  Bruce sulked against the table.

  “I don’t want to play this game, Doc. It’s bad enough I’m stuck here with you for the whole night. I don’t want to make a class of it.”

  “I’ll tell you then,” Darwin smiled quizzically. He picked up the completed gearbox and moved to a metal shelf next to Bruce. “It will make my work go faster.”

  “What’s that?” Bruce asked.

  Darwin lay on the floor and crawled under the shelf.

  “The Templars were around after a series of battles in the 11th Century called the Crusades. They disappeared in anonymity for hundreds of years, reemerging after the economic collapse in 2110.”

  Bruce scooted under the shelf next to Darwin, handing him tools without being told.

  “I know,” he said.

  “Did you know they traveled the world, trying to teach man the golden rule? Protecting. Serving.”

  “I know Conrad Pound founded the Troops on the philosophies of the Templars. Based on that, I don’t know how much they practiced the golden rule.”

  “Templars were great warriors who disavowed violence in search of peace and tried to teach it. They were strong, proud and fierce, the culmination of Ardai’s supermen,” Darwin said.

  Bruce noticed a shadow move across the window.

  “You think they can see the light?” he asked.

  Darwin rolled out from under the box and looked at the glass, wiping his greasy hands on his labcoat.

  “Surely not,” He motioned to the gearbox attached to the shelf. “Do you know what this is?”

  Bruce stood back and examined it a moment.

  “A new servo mech? A dishwasher.”

  Darwin tisk-tisked.

  “You are a very silly young man with no imagination. Why would I be talking to you about history and build a dishwasher?”

  “Because you have some neurological disease and are slowly losing your mind,” Bruce offered.

  Darwin moved to the other side of the room and grabbed two cables. He dragged them back to the box, connected them to posts jutting out from either side.

  “You may be right. But I’m crazy to save this world. I have always had a vision that I would do something grand for humanity, but it never told me what. I tried it once and failed. Now, my reading has come to my rescue. Bruce, I give you a time distortion array.”

  “A what?” Bruce jumped to his feet and stood beside the Doctor.

  “A time machine. Observe,” Darwin pointed to the pipes overhead. “Note the wires entering the room? I’ve built an accentuation which collects the energy, channeling it into the box you were so kind to put together for me. It allows me to open a window and control it.”

  Bruce backed away from Darwin, reaching for a table for support.

  “Are you all right, Doc?” I mean, do I need to go get some help?”

  “I’m serious, my boy. I’ve tested the prototype. That’s how I got this Templar History.”

  He rambled over to the desk, Bruce scrambling out of his way as if to avoid a contagion. Darwin picked through the paper and debris that cluttered the top and held out an ancient bound book. Bruce gasped.

  “It's a book,” he whispered in awe.

  “Astonishing,” said Darwin. He held the book out to Bruce, who backpedaled away from it. “If your grasp of the obvious is so astounding, it's no wonder ageism offends you. I retrieved it last month. I’ve worked day and night since and expanded the prototype to incorporate something larger. Say the size of a Templar.”

  Bruce watched the Doctor move to a console behind a lead shield, and don a pair of black tinted goggles.

  “You might want to come over here with me,” he offered. “It tends to get a little bright.”

  “Does anyone know you’re doing this?” Bruce stood outside the shield. “I mean, you know you’re crazy. This will never work.”

  “You might want to come in here anyway, or the seventy-two or so rads are going to give you a really intense sunburn.”

  Bruce ducked behind the shield, slipping on the goggles Darwin held out to him.

  “I don’t know how long I can hold it open and steady, but I’ve pinpointed the location of a battle and I will try to extract a warrior from that.”

  “I thought the Templar’s were pacifists,” said Bruce, trying to forestall the experiment.

  “In theory, yes. But the path to enlightenment is never easy, according to their history. A village rose up against them and massacred a whole contingent of Templars. So the one I take, will not be missed, nor will it affect the outcome of time, since he would cease that day anyway.”

  “And this is all theory,” said Bruce.

  Darwin nodded.

  “If I start to lose the field, I’ll have to let it collapse. If that happens, duck behind the shield and cover your ears. The sonic boom will hurt.”

  “Are you sure you should be doing this? I mean, what would the Main Terminal think? Didn’t you take some sort of oath when they gave you your doctorate?”

  “I’m a PhD. not an MD, all I had to do was write a paper or two and use my mind. Besides, this is for the benefit of mankind. Just how much more noble can that be? And if it fails, no one suffers and no one’s the wiser. You must really learn to be more optimistic. I find it depressing.”

  “Right.”

  “Are we ready?”

  “Not really.”

  “Good. Hang on.”

  Darwin connected a switch on the board in front of him, twisting the dial. A video display terminal started spitting out equations on a screen. The Doctor checked the sequence once, pressed a key and they raced across the monitor in an indeterminable order.

  The hum in the room grew louder, sparks arcing from one wire to the next and showering on the floor. Bruce screamed.

  Darwin touched a final button and the box started dancing around the room. Air shrieked like a thousand howling babies as a hole in the fabric of time was ripped in place. Darwin stared through the shimmering pane, watching a battle as if it were a vid screen.

  He selected a warrior near the top of a knoll, surrounded by villagers attacking him. He was alone, his companions strewn up the hillside and trampled under the advancing and overwhelming numbers of the lesser armed peasants.

  The warrior lay about him with a mighty sword he wielded with skill and grace. Two empty holsters on each hip were testament to how many villagers he was carrying to another life with him, a smoldering plasma rifle lay at his feet among the piled bodies.

  The warrior scooped up the rifle like a club, screamed a challenge, or perhaps a prayer to a barbarian god and leaped from the pile of bodies into the advancing horde.

  Darwin swooped the hole onto his flying form, shouting as it crashed through the time barrier.

  The warrior landed on the floor still screaming his battle cry.

  Bruce and Darwin looked at each other. A second later, the hole collapsed, engulfing the room in a heart shattering explosion. Protected by the lead shield, Darwin’s last thought was how much bigger the Templar seemed in person.

  4

  Darwin woke to the acrid stench of smoke and soot, the cold oily taste of a blaster barrel in his mouth.

  “Speak, demon.”

  The Templar’s voice was rough, torn from screaming a battle cry at the approaching mob. Blood dripped from welts, nicks, and bare misses, dropping onto the wrinkled white lab coat.

  “Now,” the voice commanded.

  Darwin tried to clear his throat, speak around the barrel. Stall for time, gather his thoughts He needn’t have bothered.

  Bruce screamed, fear and mania adding new dimensions to the shrieks he was able to produce. He bolted for the door.

  The Templar moved like coiled lightning. He lifted the gun barrel, tracked and shot. But the charge was empty, the shell no more than a small disappointing projectile that barely made it across the room.

  Bruce reached the lab door, fumbled the catch, forgetting the Mob, the curfew that trapped
them inside. The only thought in his stricken mind was primeval, pure instinct. Fight or flight and fighting was not an option. The Templar threw the gun at his head and chance made Bruce move in time. The muzzle sank into the plas steel door. Bruce screamed again and jerked it open.

  “Bruce! No!” Darwin called after him, but all he could hear was faintly retreating footsteps.

  He shoved at the Templar’s massive thigh holding him to the ground. It didn’t budge.

  “We have to stop him,” he tried to explain

  “Where have you brought me demon?” The Templar seemed of a mind to strangle the Doctor, one way or another.

  Fingers tightened around his throat.

  Bruce’s scream was different this time. He ran back into the room and tried to shut the door.

  “They’re after me!”

  The Mob hit the door before he could close it. Their weight was too much, their momentum too strong. Bruce sailed across the room, landing on the far wall with a dull thunk.

  The Templar leaped off Darwin, facing the door and the new menace that growled and grumbled in front of him.

  “Stop them!” Darwin mustered all the authority he could think of.

  The command triggered something deep in the Templar, training ingrained in the psyche. He had no flight response in his reasoning. He only knew fight. Ripping a small test tube bar from the table with one hand, and waving his mighty sword, he leaped into the crowd.

  The Mob’s collective conscience didn’t know what to make of him. Their existence was dependent on numbing fear, actions played out while prey lay paralyzed in inaction.

  The crowd was never the same on any given night. Members came and left as hunger or death drove them or dragged them down. The Mob moved about with nothing better to do, no greater purpose than to feed off the leftovers. No one had bothered to challenge them in years, because challenging required too much energy, too many resources. The Mob claimed the night. No one could steal that from them.

  The Templar did not know about the Mob or what drove them or what anyone else’s perception of them was. All he knew was the boiling blood under his skin crying for battle, the arrogant assurance that he was a match for any man or beast he came across. He did not know fear. It was never taught to him.

  He jumped at the first comers pouring through the door and noted that the small aperture would allow easy defense. No more than three or four people could fit through at one time.

  They came at him hesitantly, unsure. He turned that to his advantage, striking with sword and pipe, laying waste until the bodies piled up to his waist, becoming an effective fortress.

  Darwin crawled under the table to Bruce, dragging him to safety. He hit an emergency button and watched the Templar.

  The Mob reacted with fear, then anger, then determination to kill at all costs. They flowed over him like waves on a beach. But they were unable to best him, unable to find an advantage on this giant figure of a man in his torn armor and blood soaked visage that grinned at them with a rigor mortis smile.

  Their numbers decimated, their courage fled, the Mob turned and slowly leaked back into the hallway.

  The Templar clawed over the bodies and followed them, seeking out the fleeing forms and bashing them with the pipe.

  Darwin continued to stare from under the table, hoping in the back of his mind that other members of the research facility had either gone home or been able to lock themselves in tight before the Mob arrived. He stared over the corpses strewn in the doorway, watched the figure of the Templar hunting in the hall.

  “Isn’t he magnificent?”

  Bruce couldn’t talk. His outrage was evident in every move. He crawled to the door, kicking the bodies out of the way with his feet and shut it closed, double bolting it.

  “Are you crazy, old man?!” he screamed. “How could you bring that on us?”

  He ripped the black paper covering the glass pane in the door and peeked out at the Templar.

  “He’ll kill us. He’ll kill us all.”

  “Or save us,” Darwin offered.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “A point you’ve already suggested. Now, please stand away from the door.”

  Bruce accessed an emergency panel hidden in the wall.

  “Did you call the Troops?” he asked, hitting a big red button over and over. If any Troops were available, they would come to clear out the Mob.

  “Don’t do that,” Darwin tried to move on Bruce, but the young man hit a second button twice before his hand was batted away.

  Green gas jetted from hidden recesses in the ceiling in the hall. They watched as the remaining members of the Mob succumbed to sleep.

  “I’ll just knock him out, Doc. But when the Troops get here, you should kill him. He doesn’t belong here. Did you see what he did?”

  Bruce motioned to the throng of bodies both inside and outside the door.

  “He saved our lives from your stupidity. If you hadn’t opened the outer door-”

  “He would have killed us instead. Better to die at the Mob than be ripped to shreds by him.”

  “Is that why you came running back?”

  Bruce was about to say something, but the Templar leaned against the glass pane, searching the room with glazed eyes. He beat against the door, shaking it in the frame.

  “He’ll never make it through. Nighty-night,” Bruce waved.

  The door cracked and fell open. Bruce and Darwin backed away from the gas washing into the room.

  “He cracked plas-steel,” Darwin gasped, feeling sleep steal over his frame. He kneeled on the floor. “Magnificent.”

  Bruce pitched headfirst across a table and slid down.

  The Templar stumbled to Darwin, crashing beside him. He landed on one shoulder and watched for a moment before closing his eyes.

  “Five minutes in insta-gas,” thought Darwin as his limbs went numb and his brain slowed. “And he’s so darn big.”

  5

  “There are fifty-two dead bodies in that hallway and you’re trying to tell me one man did it all?” Harry Gargon was a ten-year member of the Troops, a seasoned veteran of numerous street encounters and part of an elite circle totally devoted to Nova Laud.

  “You know how many times we went up against the Mob? So many I can’t count, but I know damn well that no matter how big this fella is, he didn’t kill them by himself. No sir.”

  Darwin listened to the officer with patience. It was no more than he expected. Not many people were willing to believe these days, not even in atrocities. He sucked on an oxygen tube and handed it back to the medic.

  “Thank you.”

  The Templar leaned against a wall, glowing energy bonds wrapped around his torso and arms. He didn’t say a word, claiming credit or denying. He listened with that same self-assured air he had during battle. Darwin felt sorry for him, and a little scared.

  “For all he knows, he’s a prisoner of war,” he thought. Aloud, he said, “I realize what a stretch this must be for you, Officer, and I assure you that as soon as my assistant wakes up, he will verify every word.”

  Harry looked at him skeptically. Bruce had a concussion from hitting the floor. He wouldn’t wake up for a while.

  “Meanwhile, if we could feed him while we wait,” Darwin pointed to the Templar. “It’s been twelve hours since I supped and probably longer for him. Are you hungry?”

  The Templar refused to answer, but his stomach held no such conviction. It roared. Not a tiny growl, or a churning gurgle, but a small lion’s roar that brought everyone in the room about. Darwin laughed and the Templar smiled at him.

  Harry interrupted.

  “Wait a minute, I want to know what went on here.”

  “I told you. But you want to wait for proof. If you don’t want to believe me, that’s fine, but I have no reason to lie.”

  “I’m not calling you a liar,” Harry told the Doctor.

  Darwin moved to his desk drawer and dug out a banana. He walked to the Templar and pe
eled the skin.

  “I grew this myself in a greenhouse. It’s the only way to get real fruit anymore. I can’t stomach the synthetics.”

  He waved the morsel in front of the Templar.

  “Will you eat?”

  The Templar sniffed the fruit, then shrugging, he leaned forward and took almost all with one bite.

  “Watch your fingers, Doc,” said Harry.

  Darwin examined his hand just to be sure.

  “It's all I have for now, I’m afraid,” he explained to the Templar.

  Harry walked up beside him.

  “Tell me who he is again.”

  Darwin reached across the table for a cracked, worn notebook and flipped reverently through the pages. His eyes were filled with an obsessive gleam that comes from love that burns too long and deep, until it’s all consuming passion claimed the life of the man, bidding him to create the machine to make real his obsession.

  “He is a noble creature, born in the last Dark Ages after the economic collapse and before the First Computer War. He is a Templar Knight, an order founded to care for the weak with compassion and mercy, to hold honor above all else, to protect and serve.”

  “Some compassion,” Harry nodded toward the piled bodies.

  Darwin ignored him.

  “This magnificent man you see tied before you, like some common criminal is of an age where our entire way of life was in its infancy, learned men hid and nursed their secret hopes of rebuilding, dreaming of a day when they would be strong again. And in the interim, this man, and others like him walked the earth in search of those needing protection. Conrad founded the Troops on their philosophy, emulating what he saw as the perfect model-”

  “Doctor,” interrupted Harry. “You still haven’t told me where he comes from.”

  “I brought him here.”

  “But you said you didn’t know him.”

  “I don’t know him. I know of him. It’s all in my journals. The vid-corders caught everything,” he pointed to the recessed cameras hidden in the walls. “Review the tapes to verify my story. I made a time portal, I pulled him from battle. His mind was ravaged by the travel, his instinct geared for destruction, adrenaline raced in his blood.”