Invasion

by Bob Mayer

  “Do you have the doctor?” Perry asked. “My son isn’t feeling well.”

  “We’re at full complement on staff,” Tremble assured him.

  Perry was shaking his head as he led his family into the elevator. Tremble noted that the interior of the Beast was stuffed with the family’s luggage. A lot of it. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. A lot of it. He briefly wondered how long it had taken to stuff all that in.

  He climbed the ladder to the sniper nest. “Anything?”

  Jack shook his head. “Scared ‘em off for now. But I doubt they’re driving away. They’ll try again. And again. Where else can they go?”

  Tremble adjusted the focus on the binoculars. There was a yellow sign hanging inside the window of one of the blasted cars. It was speckled with red.

  BABY ON BOARD

  THE FACILITY

  “Your grandmother paid a very high price so that we might be here,” Joseph told Sofia.

  “Where is Nana Maria?” Sofia asked once more.

  The Tesla lights were dimmed, simulating the end of a day. Studies had shown that those who were cut off from daylight for extended periods of time lost track of a normal circadian rhythm. Just one of many factors to be considered in building a closed ecosystem. Earlier, smaller ecosystems had been built on the surface, utilizing solar light for plants, power and for light and having a normal day/night cycle. When the Strategy determined that a secret closed Facility based underground was required, the number of issues had increased exponentially.

  “She’s on the mothership,” Joseph said. He was seated on a bench near the center of town, a small pond nearby. Sofia was sitting next to him. “They managed to leave. The last we heard was that the FTLT drive, faster than light transit, was engaged. So she’s safe. Far away from here.”

  Sofia considered that, her dark eyes peering into Joseph’s with an awareness that belied her age. “I will never see her again.”

  “’Never’ is a long time,” Joseph said. “But, no, you most likely won’t. We have no idea where they went.”

  Sofia nodded solemnly. “That makes me sad.”

  “It should,” Joseph agreed. “But you must remember your grandmother every morning with your rising prayer. Without her, and Asha, none of you—“ Joseph waved an arm to indicate the entire Facility—“would be alive.”

  “We were rejects,” Sofia said. “Rejected from the Chosen. The Metabols.”

  “No,” Joseph said. “You, and the rest here, are the true Chosen. Asha and your grandmother picked each of you from among the Chosen. That means you are very, very special.”

  “That is not what we were told,” Sofia said. “We were told becoming a Metabol meant you were sick. You were a disease. A failure”

  “It was a necessary lie,” Joseph said. “But now, we have no need for those lies.”

  “Lies are bad,” Sofia said. “I was scared when I told I was a Metabol. I’d seen the others who were told that disappear and never come back.”

  “You were selected to be a Metabol,” Joseph said. “I am sorry it scared you, but it was a deception we had to maintain for your safety.” He saw a figure moving in the ‘night’ and waved. Asha walked up and sat on the other side of Sofia.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you,” Asha said. “You appeared to be having a very serious discussion.”

  “I was telling Sofia she must remember her grandmother Maria in her rising prayer every day.”

  “That is so,” Asha said. “I do and always will. She sacrificed herself for all of us.”

  “How did she do that?” Sofia asked.

  “She lived a lie,” Joseph said. “It was very hard for her to do many of the things she had to in order to remain in her position where she could help us.”

  “So she did a bad thing so she could do a larger good thing?” Sofia asked.

  “Yes,” Asha said.

  Sofia pondered that for a few moments. “Did she sacrifice her eyes?”

  Joseph nodded solemnly. “In a way, that was part of the price. But it is not something we should talk about now.”

  Sofia accepted that. Then asked another question. “What is a Metabol?”

  Asha glanced past the young girl toward Joseph, and then met her intense gaze. “When the Facility was first planned, we knew we couldn’t make one large enough to maintain a sufficient genetic diversity for the future of the human race.”

  Sofia nodded, indicating she understood so far.

  “Ten thousand was the threshold calculated by the computer,” Asha said. “But an underground, self-sufficient ecosystem to support that many was beyond even the capabilities of the Myrddin. Since we could not change the environment, we decided to change the people.”

  “Me,” Sofia said. “The other Metabols.”

  “Yes.”

  “How?” Sofia asked.

  “Does this scare you?” Asha asked.

  “No,” Sofia said. “I want to know.”

  “She needs to know,” Joseph said. “The time for deception is past.”

  Asha pursed her lips as she considered how to tell the truth she’d wrestled with for so long. “You feel the other Metabols, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Sofia said. She frowned. “Don’t you?”

  “No,” Asha said.

  “I don’t either,” Joseph said. “Do you fell us? Asha and I, even though we aren’t Metabols?”

  “Somewhat,” Sofia said. “Not the same as a Metabol and only when we are close. Your aura.”

  “What is that like?” Joseph asked.

  Sofia smiled at the old man. “You are like a big, warm comforter on a cold night.”

  Joseph laughed. “And Asha?”

  Sofia looked up at her. “You are the shield. As my grandmother was.”

  “And the other Metabols?” Asha asked. “How do you feel them differently?”

  “Most are asleep,” Sofia said. “Some are scared. Some excited. Do you wish me to be more specific?”

  “Can you be?” Joseph asked.

  “Sometimes I can pick up thoughts, like speaking to someone inside my head,” Sofia said. “But it’s hard when we are so many and so close together. All I feel now is the—“ she paused, for the first time at a loss for words—“you really can’t feel it?”

  “No,” Asha said. “My feelings stop here.” She waved a hand in front of her face.

  “I’m different then. Why? How?”

  “You’re a Metabol,” Joseph said.

  Sofia showed the first sign of impatience. “What does that mean, Joseph?”

  “Sofia,” Asha said softly. The young girl turned to her. Asha took the girl’s hands with her own. “You’re the next step.”

  “Next step in what, Aunt Asha?”

  “Consciousness,” Asha said. “You can sense the other Metabols. You have a connection to them beyond a basic level if you can pick up specific thoughts. That’s the beginning.”

  “What’s the ending?” Sofia asked.

  Joseph and Asha exchanged a glance. The old man answered. “That we don’t know, my girl. You’re part of, well the best way I can describe it, is a pack. All of you Metabols.”

  MARFA, TEXAS

  “Son-of-bitch,” Bobby said. He looked over at Darlene. “You think the government will pay me for the trailer?”

  He didn’t seem aware that Rex was growling and snarling.

  “Got a more immediate problem.” Darlene pointed.

  A Swarm orb, tentatively supported by four thin tentacles, was staggering away from the remains of the scout ship.

  “Oh fuck!” Bobby cried out, taking a step back.

  “Now you need to shoot something, Bobby,” Darlene suggested.

  Bobby put the rifle to his shoulder and squinted through the scope. “Damn. Where do I shoot it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, not that he ever really asked anything expecting an answer. He squeezed off five rounds.

  Darlene assumed they all impacted the center orb.
Bobby wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he generally hit what he shot at, as long as it wasn’t in orbit.

  The 5.56 mm rounds didn’t seem to make any real damage to the Swarm.

  The Swarm did seem a bit irritated though. It began to move in a most unique way. It shifted from walking to rolling, using all the tentacles around its body like a tread. This was a lot faster. And it was coming straight toward them.

  “Oh shit,” Bobby said, firing wildly.

  “Give me the gun,” Darlene said in a stern voice.

  Bobby’s finger pulled and the bolt slammed on an empty chamber.

  Darlene reached over, slid a magazine out of Bobby’s vest and snatched the gun out of his hands. “Didn’t even count your damn rounds.” She slammed the magazine home, pulled the charging handle, loading a round in the chamber and aimed.

  “Shoot, Darlene!” Bobby screamed as the orb rapidly approached, less than thirty yards away and closing.

  Darlene took a deep breath, expelled most of it, her finger caressing the trigger. Got the rhythm of the orb’s roll. She squeezed off one round. Two. Three. The tentacles collapsed and the orb rumbled to a stop.

  For good measure, Darlene fired two more shots, directly into empty eye sockets that she’d already hit. “Gotta shoot the eyes.” Darlene handed the rifle back to Bobby. “I like the scope.”

  WARDENCLYFFE, SHOREHAM, NEW YORK

  The top center drawer on Professor Leahy’s desk was secured with a card access lock. Shear considered it for several moments, then ran the card on the lanyard around his neck over the IR sensor.

  The lock clicked open.

  He opened the drawer. On top were several sheets of paper. He recognized Leahy’s handwriting.

  Randy.

  Now you know you could have opened this any time. But you never tried until now, did you? That’s one of the things I like about you, but it’s also your blind spot. You’re too trusting.

  So if you’re reading this, I’ve gone and you’re worried. I’m not sure what the circumstances will be, but the bottom line is the Parrish’s and the rest of the Myrddin will be coming for me. You should be all right. You don’t know anything you’re not supposed to know. Ignorance is innocence, although, to be honest, I’m not sure Mr. and Mrs. Parrish will feel that way.

  And if you don’t want to know any more, stop reading now. You’ll maintain plausible deniability. And the Parrish’s goons won’t be able to get you to say what you don’t know. Of course if they start to work on you, it’s too late anyway. And you’ll be making things up to tell them, just to get them to stop.

  You need to understand that. There is an entire, dark, level to this that you are unaware of. Read no further if you wish to remain unaware.

  There was nothing else on the front page.

  He slid it aside and continued on page 2.

  Ha! I knew you’d keep reading. That’s another thing I like about you. Your curiosity. But remember the old saying about curiosity. Still, you deserve the truth. As much as I understand it. The Strategy is corrupt in its heart. I’ve known it for years. Mister and Mrs. Parrish have kept parts of it secret from everyone.

  The most important thing you need to know if I’ve gone and you’re reading this? We’re all expendable. The Parrish’s care only about themselves; not the Myrddin. Not even the Chosen when it comes down to it. But that’s another story that should not involve you.

  What involves you? You know the cannon only has a few shots in it. I’m working on that and am close to a breakthrough, but I’ve not succeeded yet if I haven’t updated this letter.

  There is also the shield. If it kicks on, that will surprise everyone, but also protect you. You’ll figure out the controls for that quickly enough.

  Shear paused. He hadn’t seen her doing anything new here. Leahy had to have another lab that she went to on her long absences. Colorado Springs most likely. He’d seen her vouchers. She’d flown there numerous times. And Tesla had had a lab in that city. That lab was gone, at least the one history records, but knowing Tesla’s proclivities as he did, Shear had no doubt that the old man had one hidden away somewhere. Probably in the Rockies.

  I don’t know what the future holds, but I have my own version of the Strategy. If you opened this drawer, then I’m gone. Either escaped or dead. The Strategy, as the Parrish’s envision it, is on a thumb drive in the drawer. Do NOT go on Ethos to check any of this. It is monitored. Everything is monitored.

  Remember, Reuben, you’re not paranoid if everyone is out to get you.

  Shear couldn’t help but smile at that last part. It was a joke he used to say around the lab. He checked the drawer. The thumb drive was in a pile of paper clips. He took it out.

  If it’s really bad, you can go public with the contents. Especially before she implements the Danse portion. That should stop her and the other Myrddin, but be aware they are very, very powerful and everywhere.

  I’ve given you what I can.

  Thank you for all your years of service.

  Professor Leahy—but my real name is Alice Tesla.

  Shear stared at the last line for several seconds, then slowly nodded. That made sense.

  What the hell was the ‘Danse portion’?

  He hefted the thumb drive. What good did it do now? Go public? There was no public. He sat down, turned the computer on, made sure the Ethos connection was still dark, and inserted it.

  AREA 51

  The MK-98 was heavy and Turcotte was beginning to wish he’d left it with the Fynbar. He took the stairs carefully, his damaged knee sore and tender after all his exertions these past weeks. The extra weight didn’t help.

  The door to the CUBE was open and a few emergency lights flickered. Turcotte leaned the MK-98 against the wall. The room was eighty by a hundred feet, with rows of consoles, swivel chairs and a raised dais in the back for the general who had reigned here.

  Confronting General Gullick seemed forever ago to Turcotte. This is where it had started for him; at least that’s what he’d thought. Getting assigned by Duncan to be part of Nightscape, the high-level security force at Area 51. Being ordered to kidnap a young couple who’d accidently witnessed the test flight of a bouncer in Nebraska. Rejecting that order. Saving them.

  Had that been a conscious choice? How had Duncan known to pick him, of all people? She’d had his files, but there were lots of military files.

  The throbbing of the implant in the back of his skull indicated his participation had started long before his memory of it.

  He was not a 0.

  Was he?

  This was the place where Majestic-12, Majic-12 or whatever moniker one decided to pin on it, had ruled the covert world of alien investigation for decades. They’d had the mothership in Hangar 2. The bouncers in Hangar 1.

  Command and Control Center, C-cubed, shortened to CUBE.

  The military and shadow world love acronyms. Their own lingo, foreign to most outsiders.

  Turcotte wiped the sheen of dust off the general’s chair and sat down. The air was stuffy since the ventilation had been shut for a while. The large screen at the front of the room was dark, as were all the computer consoles.

  The pain was less. Turcotte turned his head back and forth. Definitely. Underground? All the rock above between him and the Swarm Core?

  How could he be connected to the Swarm? For a moment, Turcotte felt panic, fearing he might have been infiltrated by a Swarm tentacle, but immediately dismissed that. He’d seen the images of the implant.

  The New Zealand colonel representing the United Nations who’d met him and the others when they returned from Mars—the first time—had said the Cube had been restored. Somewhat. Turcotte looked at the switches built into the wide right arm of the chair. One had the obvious look of on/off. He flipped it.

  Nothing.

  He wasn’t a 0.

  Was he?

  Turcotte got up and searched the center. There were several racks of filing cabinets along one wall. He
went through them. He didn’t know what he was searching for, but there were answers here. He just didn’t know the questions.

  In the fourth drawer he saw a file labeled: DULCE.

  He remembered the underground base outside the small town on the Colorado/New Mexico border. Where Kelly Reynolds’ friend, the reporter Johnny Simmons, had been taken after trying to infiltrate this base. The inciting incident to all of this for her; at least this version. The reality was that it has been going on since the very beginning, from Atlantis and—

  Turcotte considered that. What was before Atlantis? Had there been humans here and the Airlia seen an opportunity? Or, as Kelley Reynolds related, had humans been brought here by the Airlia and seeded?

  Or was there another option?

  Turcotte focused on the file. Dulce. Where they’d tried to infiltrate Johnny Simmons’ mind, change his memories, make him one of the ‘crazies’ babbling about little green men and UFOs in order to cover up what was really at Area 51.

  It had worked for decades on others.

  Turcotte thumbed through the report. A term caught his eye: RHIC-EDOM. Kelly Reynolds had mentioned EDOM while they were on their way to free Simmons from Majestic’s clutches at Dulce.

  Turcotte scanned the page, portions leaping up, framing the questions he knew he needed answers to:

  TOP SECRET Q CLEARANCE

  MAJESTIC-12 ONLY

  RHIC-EDOM SUMMARY

  -The CIA has investigated technology designated RHIC-EDOM, Radio Hypnotic Intracerebral Control and Electronic Dissolution of Memory. Together these techniques can remotely induce hypnotic trance, deliver suggestions to the subject, and erase all memory for the most recent activities.

  -It is not effective for long-term memories, which are generally ‘laid down’ during REM sleep. Action must be taken within 24 hours of an event in order to ‘erase’ memory.

  -RHIC uses a stimoceiver to induce a hypnotic state.

  -EDOM is the erasure of memory from consciousness through the blockage of synaptic transmission in certain areas of the brain. By jamming the brain's synapses through a surfeit of acetocholine, neural transmission along selected pathways can be effectively stilled. The long-term memory will never be laid down.