INCURSION - an ALIEN OMNIBUS

by Chris Lowry

  15

  The energy bonds weren’t the problem. The small cramped metal box that bound his torso, exposing his arms and legs spread eagle against the wall wasn’t that bothersome. Even the brace that forced his head back almost forty-five degrees didn’t worry him.

  Even before he completely woke up, he knew he could break free from them all. Year after year of training had forced an instinct for self-preservation in him he could neither acknowledge or claim credit for. He was a survivor, a product of his times and environment, and so in tune with his body and the way it interacted with his surroundings that the slightest temperature change from an approaching body let him know he was not alone.

  He didn’t need to look to feel them. He could smell where they were. To the left, behind him a huddle of three men, little more than boys with that post pubescent scent that whispered of too many solo rendezvous with fantasy women after lights out. Beyond them, two others, older, anger stronger than fear wafting toward him. Men who knew how to fight, he marked them for danger and shifted his attention.

  Across the room from him, the man who he had broken in the car. He was healed now, bruised still but moving as if nothing occurred. The Templar thought to ask, but bit his tongue. His leaders had repeatedly warned him about a curious nature, it would only cause trouble.

  If he cared to consider it, curiosity was the reason for his being here. Eleven, his Master, wanted to skip the tiny village, raid an outlying farm for stock and vegetables instead. But he argued that the village was soft, ripe for the plucking. It was rumored that a repository of ancient weapons and books was housed under a central hut in the center of the commons. Word floated down the river about such a place, a fortress of new design and methods of destruction.

  Eleven held out against him, pointing out the lack of defenses as a reason for this not to be the place. But Twelve held out, and the men sided with him. The chance for plunder and mayhem against such an easy and obvious target was too tempting to pass. Twelve led them into battle against the village and fell against a superior force.

  The Templar’s were routed by villagers trained in ancient ways of battle. Instead of relying on brute force like the soldiers, the villagers used tactics, an outdated concept that had been disregarded in factor of a more direct approach. The advance line of Templars fell into the villager’s meager defense, screaming battle cries as it crumbled and retreated. They pushed through the middle, stretching out their lines. The two flanks of defense closed like an iron claw. Eleven fell in the first wave, carrying three villagers to the beyond with him.

  They might have won free, their ragged armor protecting those left, but a hill on the far side of the encampment was too much of an enticement. Twelve knew that the villagers had to have something to hide. Why else would they fight with such zeal, such furor? His men agreed.

  They hacked a path to the hill, wreaking havoc, losing many but killing more. The villagers were fanatical in an attempt to stop the advance. Twelve could taste bitter-sweet victory.

  Something slammed them from the side. Women and children poured from the woods to fight beside the village men, sheer numbers crushing the Templar force. The battle was horrendous, pushing up the hill. His brethren fell, left and right, dragged down and ripped to shreds, spent blaster rifles torn from their hands and used as clubs. Even as they died, each Templar would take two or three villagers with him, ripping out a child’s throat, cracking a mother’s neck, biting the jugular of a body on top of them with their last strength.

  Until he was the only one left. At the top of the hill, he didn’t have time to look, but he knew the entire Troop lay spread up the incline. He knew that the villagers would take him, and he would never know why they fought so hard. It ate him up inside, feeding rage that churned in him. He prepared himself for death, vowing to take as many villagers with him as he could. If they wanted to die for their secret, he would oblige.

  He threw down his rifle, wiped the gore from his sword and leaped-

  Time stretched him, ripping him apart and piecing him together again, over and over until agony was the only mantra he knew.

  “So, this is Hell,” he thought.

  He was spit on a clean gray floor and the pain stopped.

  The battle rage didn’t. It burned in him, crying for release.

  The room was unfamiliar and strange. It smelled, felt and was different. The strangeness added to his dementia, and on the floor across from him was a body.

  It looked weak, frail, an old man in a white over garment.

  “I fell through the hill,” he thought. “I am in the hill and this is what they are hiding.”

  He crawled for the supine figure. He wasn’t sure if this was the hill, or where he was. Were the rabid villagers hounding him? Would they crash through the doors and take him? He thought this might be Hell after all. He reached the body, propped it up and shoved his spent pistol in its mouth.

  “Wake up bastard,” he growled.

  He hoped he wasn’t threatening the Devil.

  He could handle being bound, it would be a moment’s work to undo. He could handle being surrounded, it would take just a few moments longer to deal with his captors. He hesitated because the scent of fear and blaster rifles was so strong, he imagined the slightest twitch on his part would start all the men blazing away at him. How could you escape when your head was vapor? He reasoned it better to wait it out.

  Darren swaggered over, and stood above him.

  16

  Darwin waited in the corridor alongside a varied assortment of petitioners. In the corner, a woman with a small boy waited to learn the status of his application to the Troops. Beside her was an older gentleman, from the first or second level of society waiting to hear about his son’s patrol in Mid-country. They all sat with the same dead, despondent air of people who had better things to do than wait for some undersecretary to admit them to the Director.

  “This would never happen with Conrad,” Darwin told himself, remembering how the founder of the Troops would see each person in a quick, orderly fashion.

  There was a real soldier, and a gentleman. When Darwin came to visit about his application to the Troops, forty years ago, Conrad himself took him aside to explain the differences between mechanics and intelligence. He told Darwin he was needed on the front lines of development, not battle. Conrad couched the rejection in such elegant terms, it wasn’t painful at all.

  On the contrary, Darwin felt it was a pleasure to walk out the door and still work for the Troops in an R & D lab, never knowing the sting, thrill or disappointment of war.

  The new Director, Nova Laud was Conrad’s hand-picked protégé. She was a warrior, chafing under the constraints of administration, if you could believe the gossip. By the looks of her waiting room, she didn’t know how to run an office, preferring to rely on her Undersecretary to weed out everything but the most important matters that required her attention.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Darwin,” Stephen leaned out of the office door.

  He was tall, broad and not at all what one would expect in an assistant.

  “Thank you,” Darwin answered.

  If one must have an assistant, he thought, I suppose one capable of anything would be best.

  He nudged Bruce awake and allowed him a moment to gather his senses.

  “We’ve been called in. Keep still and let me ask the questions.”

  “No problem, Doc,” Bruce said. He checked the audio recorder in his jacket once more. He would let the Doctor do all the talking, let the Director answer all the questions and recorded every word they said. He would filter it down, write it up, attach a pseudonym and pay his condo rent for the next two years.

  Stephen waited like a sentinel, neither moving, nor even breathing it seemed. When Darwin and Bruce stood in front of him, he stepped back, allowing them to pass through the door and follow him.

  16

  Nova sat with her back to the door, watching the pale reflection in the glass window to her
side. The sun was bright against a blue sky, but the protective glaze on the plex-steel hid the room in shadows. Small recessed lights in the ceiling created tiny pools of light. More of the room was unseen than seen, except to her. She knew every inch with her eyes closed. She knew it was fifteen steps from the door to her desk. She knew that Bram stood in a corner, beside an effigy of an early model Jumpsuit, hidden from all eyes but hers. She knew that the footsteps approaching up the corridor belonged to Stephen the faithful, and he brought Dr. Darwin to see her.

  She didn’t know how to feel about the Trial that would take place tomorrow afternoon.

  On one hand, this new creature held in a cell on level five needed to be studied. He was the myth come alive, the model on which the Troops were founded. A real life 21st Century Templar Knight. He fought with the ferocity and strength of an animal, so much so that even their most advanced Computer could not extrapolate a hypothesis on his existence. The data was too conflicting, the facts too near fiction as to be believable. Even Bram’s advanced intelligence network couldn’t fathom his being and clamored for immediate termination and autopsy.

  He was an anomaly, like the Mob, unpredictable and dangerous. But the opportunity for studying the first time traveler in history was too tempting to just discard onto a lab table. Argument had been presented to set him up in a zoo like environment, parade him around for society functions and have it answer questions regarding past and present.

  Unfortunately, the only prison capable of holding the Templar was a squad of armed guards with plasma guns aimed at his head at all times. His reflexes and strength didn’t even register on playback monitors. The Computer accorded him a terminology researched for natural disasters and shuffled him into a gig-file all by himself. If the Main Terminal didn’t know what to do with him, how could the people decide?

  Stephen let Darwin in the door without announcing him. Nova felt the breeze from the corridor on her cheek and turned to face them.

  Darwin looked uncomfortable.

  “He came to see Conrad often,” she thought and watched the old man’s gaze on the portrait behind her. The emotions registered on his face were mixed, reverence and disgust. She knew the feeling. Conrad was a charmer. A bastard and a low life too. But a charming one.

  “Have a seat,” she instructed.

  The assistant with Darwin caught her eye. He was nervous and trying to hide it with cockiness. She had seen that type time and again, young men going into battle too proud to admit their fear and too stubborn to listen to their betters. Experience was what counted in every situation and this novice was another anomaly. She marked him, flicking her eyes in Bream’s direction, telling him to do the same. He blinked, acknowledged.

  “Dr. Darwin, a pleasure to see you. I believe this is the first time you’ve been to the office since I took over.”

  He tore his eyes away from the staring figure on the wall.

  “After Conrad passed, I turned to my work.”

  She nodded.

  “Your machine kept him alive a year longer than anyone could have hoped,” she shrugged her shoulders. “It was an experiment. You couldn’t have known it would finish the process time had started.”

  Darwin wiped a hand across his eyes.

  “He was a good man. I was sorry to kill him.”

  She laughed, startling Bruce and the Doctor.

  “You didn’t kill him. He was old, he lived a good life. He would have died anyway. Is that why you don’t come to see me? Do you think I blame you?”

  “Not at all . . .” he started, but she could see that, yes, that was the reason he stayed away all these years.

  “Time to bring him back into the fold,” she told herself.

  “I’ve been researching new-,” he started. “I’ve been busy with-,” he attempted to explain.

  “I wish we could have talked about this sooner,” she got up, sat on the edge of her desk, closer to him. “It’s as much my fault as yours. I should have come to you, instead of waiting. It never occurred to me that anyone else could hurt as much as me.”

  She looked over her shoulder at Conrad.

  “We loved him, didn’t we?”

  Darwin sniffled.

  “But we still need you on the Team, Darwin,” she turned back to him. “The Troops go on, no matter who we lose, right? And we don’t blame each other for any who fall in battle. Conrad was fighting, and you helped him live long enough to pass on instructions to me. He told me the secrets, which he couldn’t have done if you hadn’t kept him alive. He knew the risks, knew that the machines would keep him alive by eating him up inside. He accepted that. He told you as much, and he told each of the Troopers. We accepted that.”

  She reached out for his hand, took it in her own.

  “Now, you have to. Accept his death wasn’t your fault, and come back to us. No one blames you, least of all me.”

  Bram smiled, and she almost laughed out loud. Darwin was looking at her with the same look of reverence he had given the portrait.

  “Conrad could always choose well,” he patted her leg.

  She felt good about herself, compliments always hit her the right way. That and the fact that the Doctor was now entrenched on her side. One of the secrets Conrad had bestowed on her was manipulation. Place all the pieces to your liking on the board before the game starts, he said.

  “What else can I do for you, Dr.?” she moved back to her chair.

  The assistant hadn’t sat still while they were talking. He fidgeted in his chair, leaning his shoulder first one way, then the other, like he was watching a ping pong match. Bram noticed too and ran a tactical scan on the young man. He was clean of weapons. He motioned to Nova, but watched Bruce closely.

  “I’ve come about the Templar,” said Darwin.

  She knew as much. Darwin’s name had been all over the report Harry Gargon filed.

  “He goes to Trial tomorrow afternoon,” she explained.

  “I know,” Darwin answered. “I want to be a character witness.”

  Nova stared at him.

  “What? How can you be a character witness? You don’t know him.”

  “I don’t know him, but I know his Order and the past,” he rummaged in his bag, laid the laptop on her desk and pulled out the ancient book. “This is about him.”

  Nova’s eyes bugged out of her head.

  “Is that a book?”

  “A book of History,” he told her.

  She leaned across the desk as he set it in front of her.

  “This book contains information on the formation of his Order and the reasons for its existence. That’s the reason for me going, and the fact that I brought him here.”

  Nova stopped him. No one had yet addressed the issue of time travel and its implications. That was another matter for Trial. She told him so.

  “We’re going to convene an inquiry into your newly discovered talent, Dr. I’m not allowed to discuss it with you any further.”

  “I thought as much,” he closed the book and hid it back in his pack. “But you must know, I destroyed all the documents on my research. There are no records of what I’ve done, and I refuse to divulge the methods I used. We’ve seen the results of pulling a figure from the past into the now, and even though the dead were only Mob, they were still people. I’ll talk about the trauma of the passage in tomorrow’s Trial.”

  The assistant cleared his throat.

  “But the computers caught it all, Doc. You couldn’t have destroyed everything.”

  Darwin looked at Bruce, nodded his head like a father to a child.

  “I sent a virus into the programming. You’ll find no records of my activity for that time period.”

  Nova and Bruce both sat stunned.

  “There are virus hunters that will wipe it out,” said Bruce.

  “You’ll crash the entire system,” said Nova.

  Darwin sat with a proud gleam in his eye.

  “I created a program specific virus. It only erased the vids o
f my room and files pertaining to my work for this period. You’ll find that no one can recreate my experiment, and therefore, cannot commit the same folly I did.”

  Bruce almost giggled aloud. He had recordings of his own, but no one needed to know that. He readjusted the audio recorder and settled back.

  Nova regained her composure.

  “If you’ve created a program specific virus, we’ll need your data on that.”

  “Filed with the register’s office. Under my name.”

  She buzzed Stephen.

  “Command file, Darwin. Find me programs registered under his name,” she looked back at Darwin.

  “As for you being a witness, I see no problem with having you there. I want you to dictate a position to Stephen so we won’t have any surprises. And I want you to come back to R&D for us.”

  Darwin packed the laptop back in his bag.

  “Thank you for your time.”

  “That’s it?” Bruce was incredulous. “What about the prisoner?”

  “What about him?” Nova asked.

  Bram shifted his weight forward, ready to pounce.

  “Where is he? What are we going to do? I mean, how is he-”

  Darwin put a hand on his shoulder.

  “That will all be for tomorrow, Bruce. Get yourself together. I got what I came for,” he looked over his shoulder at Nova and the portrait of Conrad. “And a little more.”

  “But Doc, we-”

  “We what? Really boy, you must collect your thoughts before you open your mouth. You’d make much more sense that way.”

  Chastised, Bruce followed the Doctor out of the door.

  Bram appeared by her side.

  “Did you feel it?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t tell what it was. Did we reject him at one time?”

  “His name isn’t familiar, but who knows. Maybe we didn’t save someone he knows from the Mob. Have a Trooper check him out.”

  “I put Robe on it,” he said.

  “No, I want him on level five.”

  “Don’t mean to question you, but-”