He suddenly pulls his pipe in half, a small roll of paper falls into his hand. Smiling at a now standing Radclyf, he holds out the paper for him to take. The small piece of paper has a signature on it, 'Cindy'.
That night finds the four man SAS team in full night time camouflage gear, following Peter, who is also similarly geared. Having made their way to the warehouse district by van, the team gears up, then travels the last two blocks on foot. Peter points to one particular building, a two story warehouse. From here on, in it is Radclyf that takes the lead. With a few hand gestures he gives his orders. The five men cautiously make their way to the building and get inside in virtual silence. Ever so slowly, the team makes their way toward an area of obvious activity. Inside the well lit warehouse, there sit on various crates, a group of about thirty men. These men are no ordinary dock workers, many have various weapons slung over their shoulders or within easy reach. The leader of this band is doing a great job of extolling the reasons for attacking the alien space craft. His plan is so basic, the five hidden watchers can’t believe how gullible these rebels are. Really, drive a truck up the ramp and into the space ship, jump out and kill them all? Radclyf never could understand fanatics, he signals for his men and Peter to position themselves. Radclyf watches the group of would be rebels as Paul, Henry and Jim get into position. Each team member once situated, quietly places extra ammo cartridges within easy reach as they closely watch the time. Paul keeps Radclyf and Peter who is near him, in a clear line of sight.
Exactly three minutes later, all hell breaks loose. The four men of the SAS simultaneously execute a lethal barrage of fire from their MP5K's. Peter joins the bedlam a split second later, with a borrowed MP5K. Bullet riddled rebels fall to the ground, many oblivious as to whom, or what has killed them. A few manage to reach for their weapons before succumbing to the overpowering onslaught of the attack. Each SAS member maintains a constant barrage of fire, and having worked together for so long, automatically cover each other during reloading. So efficient is the team, that the noise of gunfire goes unabated until the last rebel falls. Not a single rebel returns fire, not even the leader, who now lies on the floor, coughing up blood as he dies from multiple bullet wounds. Leaving behind a special package, the five men leave as quietly and efficiently as they came. By the time they get back to their van, sirens can be heard in the distance. Driving a well planned escape route, as outlined by Peter, the team makes it back to the hotel without incident.
Once inside the hotel they all await further instructions, as they follow the news. Radclyf, though still wary of Peter, does find that against his better judgment, he likes the man. He gives Paul a slight nod in thanks for covering him back at the warehouse.
Location:
Manhattan Island
New York
The morning news carries with it a grand story of a gang war in France over drugs. It seems that two rival gangs killed each other off during the night over a few kilograms of heroin, which was found at the scene. The French media compares the gang land style killings with American and Mexican drug cartels. The family heads out that morning to the mess hall for a community breakfast.
As they eat, Lisa just shakes her head at the news. “You would think, with aliens having landed on Earth that perhaps these gangs would, well would just stop killing each other.”
“Well dear, I don't know what to tell you.” George gazes about, he recognizes a few people from yesterday.
After breakfast, George smiles as he gives Johnny's hair its customary ruffle. Lisa receives a small peck on her cheek as he gets up.
“Hey mister, is that all I get?” She says with a little disdain as she stands, putting her hands on her hips. There are a few chuckles from nearby people. With mounting embarrassment, George looks about and under the unwanted gaze of onlookers, gives his wife the attention she wants, and deserves. A few people cheer them on as they hug and kiss. She smiles at her man, who is now quite embarrassed. “Much better, now go and be safe.”
As he heads to the alien ship all he can think about is his family. Once there, he is surprised to find that he and a few others are directed to a different area. More people are trying out the suits, with limited success. George, wonders why the Gamin are going to so much effort. George chats with the other four about yesterday’s experiences. Some of them talk about experimenting with creating objects not on the picture boards, with mixed results.
This time George and his colleagues are led toward slightly larger looking suits. These units look like pealed open fruit, with their exoskeleton exposed. George, along with the others is directed to enter these new suits. Stepping up to the open suit, George can see that he simply needs to turn around and step back up and into it. As he does so, the sides of the suit wrap around him while a helmet swivels over and down. Soon he is fully encased, from the helmet over his head to his feet that rest on thin foot plates. The same color sensation washes over George, but this time he is ready for it, and does not get as dizzy. The scrolling marquee on the faceplate is in English, which shocks George a lot. It’s like a status update on the suit including power, damage, and other numbers that seem to represent onboard storage, but he can’t figure out what the numbers themselves mean. Mixed with this are symbols which scroll up and down the faceplate in an endless parade of gibberish.
This morning, the group of five suited people walk down the ramp toward a pile of rocks and under direction from an alien, create a tool from yesterday’s list and activate it at the rock pile. George is shocked at what happens, the rocks he points his tool toward, just vanish. Symbols and numbers scroll up and down his visor. About an hour later the group is directed to another area, where they create a yet another different tool. As a group, they manage to make a rail, not unlike a train track. Again, this is accompanied by a scrolling marquee of symbols and numbers.
After a break for lunch an alien approaches the group, and in excellent English, explains what the team is going to create. George starts to understand what they are doing now.
The afternoon finds the group heading unsupervised, toward an area near the spacecraft’s massive ramp. By the evening they have crafted a pretty ordinary looking train line beside the ramp. It points toward one of the alien constructed bridges. Now George understands what's going on. They are going to make a rail interchange for supplies that come in. It also dawns on him, that this puts them at risk from Gamin haters.
As the sun starts to set, an alien voice startles George. The suit’s headpiece relays the alien’s message in the now familiar metallic tone. “Return the suits, the day’s duties are complete, return in the morning and continue.”
The group heads back to the spacecraft. The suits do not feel heavy or awkward, thus, the day's efforts have not been overtaxing. “These suits are amazing.” Says George to the others as he steps out from inside it. He is not sure what triggered the suit to open up, but he hopes to figure that out too.
“Yeah, but they give me a headache.” Replies one of the men.
“Just relax.” Replies George. “I find that by clearing my mind, the suit does not make me feel ill.”
“Maybe for you George, but it's pretty obvious that fewer of us can use the suits than even these aliens expected.”
George tries to recall the man's name but cannot. “Yeah, you're right.” Is all that he can come up with. “Well, see you guys in the morning.”
Getting to his quarters he finds a note instead of his family. Instant concern is eased as he reads it quickly. 'We are at the mess hall, It seems I have been stereotyped as a cook!' Oh no, he knows that will not make her happy. He heads to the mess hall at a brisk pace, a cook? Indeed!
Expecting to find his wife in an unhappy mood, he is pleasantly surprised to see that she is laughing with a hand full of other women, as they prepare meals for those in the room. Over one hundred people occupy this mess hall, creating a pleasant atmosphere. Those that demand to be served or dare comment negatively on the service, are soon put in
their place. Lisa has rallied all the women to do their assigned tasks, but not to take any belittling from those being served. Their son Johnny is seated nearby, having finished his meal. George smiles at his wife as the events of the last few days are eased from his mind.
Later that night, George spends some time chatting with their son about his day. It seems that the boy has been playing with the wall screen and found a number of games and educational channels. Finally, he is able to convince Johnny that it's late and they should all retire to bed. He heads off begrudgingly.
Looking at his wife, he wonders where to start. He has wanted to talk about his day and blurts out quite excitedly. “The Gamin have us making a rail line from the spaceship to one of the bridges. It seems that not very many people can use the suits. The suits can detect thoughts and make tools just by thinking about them. Using these tools, the suit can absorb raw materials and then make things. The technology is amazing and even though I use a suit I have no idea how it works.” George wonders about the science behind the suits. The scrolling marquee of information is starting to make sense.
Lisa was not expecting him to be so excited about the work he was doing and is a little taken aback. “I am glad you’re finding your work, uh interesting, we can trade jobs anytime you like.” She is of course joking, and he knows it.
George’s excitement is replaced by sadness. “It is hard sometimes’ when I think about helping these aliens. They are responsible for the death of many of our friends, it still really bothers me.”
“We really don't know that for sure. It may have been as the media have said, maybe we did change the asteroids path.” She is not sure herself, her own uncertainty comes through in her voice.
“Well.” Says George with conviction. “I do know that the Gamin could wipe us out if they wanted to, but instead they are actually helping us.” He frowns as he considers his own words. “Well, they are getting us to help them. I guess that's more accurate.”
“You should keep working with them, perhaps the truth will come out.” She yawns and rolls over to go to sleep. “Night, my love.”
He feels comforted by her words as he too, falls asleep. He has vivid and wild dreams of lost friends, family, and the Gamin.
Location:
New York
New York City Morgue
The detectives have been waiting patiently, not sure of what to expect. Captain Harris, with his Texas drawl, had been quite specific. “Jones and Edwards get over to the city morgue and talk with Dr Lee to see what this fuss is about.” Finally a small Asian man approaches the seated detectives.
“I am Dr Lee, I take it you two are the detectives sent to me?”
Standing up and with a simple motion of his hand Detective Jones simply says, “Jones, and Edwards, whatcha got?”
Towering over the small doctor, the two detectives follow him into a room containing eight tables. Each table has a body on it in various states of decomposition. Both detectives gag a little. Though the room smells of a variety of chemicals, they do not fully mask the stench of death and decay.
“I have sorted these bodies based on estimated time of death. This first group of five has been dead for about four days. Those two have been dead for about three days and this one came in today. I have another fourteen bodies that are in worse condition but these show the details I want you to see.”
The small Asian doctor leads the two detectives to the least repulsive corpse, and points to its head. The detectives have to look closely but finally they can see a small hole in the back of the victim’s skull. In an unexpected and grotesque display the doctor inserts a thin rod into the hole and right through. Sure enough it exits a small hole in the forehead of the victim.
Dr Lee looks at the tall men as he continues. “Now detectives, I have seen many bullet injuries in my time, but none like this.”
Jones and Edwards can only stare at the row of bodies. Detective Jones ventures forth. “We will need the locations of where these bodies were all found.”
“Sure I have that info right here on the desk.” He hands the detectives a list of addresses.
Each of the locations is an open roof top that has little to show. After a brief search, they do find some shell casings belonging to a variety of different weapons, mostly rifles. The day wears on before finally the detectives are wandering the roof top of the last address given. Detective Edwards suddenly discovers the one common denominator between all the roof tops.
“Hey, Jones come look at this.” He points, visible in the distance is the giant alien spacecraft.
Looking back and forth, Detective Edwards heads to the far side of the roof and looks at the low wall facing Manhattan. “We have to check all the roof tops again.” He has an idea as to what is going on.
They have to revisit all the roof tops again before finally they find one with promise. According to the morgue report this particular rooftop had four bodies discovered on it.
Jones stands on the rooftop gazing at the setting sun, as he watches his attention is drawn to motion near the massive spacecraft. “So you think these idiots are shooting at the aliens?” He says as he spots a small group of people walking away from the spaceship.
“Yep, and the aliens are shootin' back.” Eventually Edwards discovers what he is looking for. “And here is our proof.” Embedded into the wall facing the spacecraft is a small rock like object. Extracting the object with tweezers, Edwards drops it into an evidence bag. There even looks to be dried blood or something on it.
“Let's get this checked out.” Edwards holds up the small bag and grins. He is quite pleased with himself.
The lab reports later that night are quite unusual, they are run many times to be sure. By morning there can be no doubt that the rock is made up of an unknown material. It has a density far exceeding anything known to mankind. Indeed, under powerful microscopes instead of finding solutions, the material baffles all that look even more. The lab staff is perplexed by what they have in their possession, and have no answers.
Back at the station, Detective Edwards reads over his report one last time. “It would seem that the peaceful Gamin are having a little target practice. All evidence points to this being a defensive posture and not an initiation of hostilities.” He realizes that if the roles were reversed we too, would be defending ourselves from attackers such as those that lay in the morgue. He considers what the aliens are doing. On one hand, they have our own forces apprehend attackers, and on another, they just kill them. “Hmm, but what to do about this?” He says thinking aloud to no one in particular.
Location:
Forest area west of Clamart
Paris, France
Radclyf's team finally receives new instructions, much to their relief. Doing nothing is not an easy task for this group of men. Looking at his team, Radclyf considers the orders with special consideration for Peter’s role. He relays the orders to the team exactly as he received them.
“We are to continue going to the Gamin training while we also follow up with the various doctors and surgeons to glean as much information as is possible. I shall go to the next training session, Peter will locate the facility the French are using to handle the information. We are to plan an incursion to obtain a copy of all the data they have plus any results from any tests that may be ongoing.”
With Peter being included in the team, they all discuss their new orders in slightly more detail than normal to clarify each member’s task. It's rare that any of Radclyf's team questions orders, but Paul speaks up. “Sir, if these aliens are just giving away the information why do we need to take it from the French?”
“Perhaps the space ship is here for more than advertised reasons. We have our orders and will find out soon enough.” Radclyf actually feels the question has merit.
Peter, with a new pipe in hand, sits with his legs crossed and nods his head in agreement. The other three know their tasks. Henry will prepare an array of non lethal weapons. Paul will check the vehicles
while Jim will scout the immediate area more thoroughly while collecting bus and train timetables. With nothing else to add, the group heads out to complete their assigned duties.
The day’s training is a repeat of the last session for Radclyf, in that he can barely understand the medical jargon and terminologies used. Once again Radclyf turns on his pocket computer to record as much as he can.
Peter has little trouble locating the hospital that these doctors are from. He does, however, have a slightly more difficult time in finding the facility that is being used for analysis and testing. Peter stumbles upon a group of doctors meandering about the hospital excitedly discussing the aliens’ medical knowledge. The talkative doctors end up in a small cafeteria where they continue to talk openly about some upcoming experiments with Peter seated at a booth nearby. Drinking a black tea as he reads an English newspaper, he relaxes with his unlit pipe resting nearby. As the last rays of the setting sun vanish, Peter’s patience is rewarded beyond all measure. One of the doctors stands and says in French, with all the innocence of small child. “Well, see you at the Pasteur in an hour.” The remaining doctors also make their way out the door a few moments later. Peter orders a fresh cup of black tea, which he drinks slowly as he reads more news articles. Finally he rises, with paper and pipe in hand, he pays and leaves. Stopping outside Peter lights his pipe while surreptitiously scanning the area. He takes a meandering route back to the Hotel Cecilia.
Radclyf's team meets again that night with Peter. With a small nod from Radclyf, Peter relays the day's events.
“The French are using multiple teams, one to gather research material and another that conducts testing. There are tests ongoing as we speak, at the Pasteur. I feel that if we are to glean as much information as possible, we should let tonight's tests conclude prior to our data gathering exercise. The doctors were talking quite openly, too openly in my opinion.”
First Contact (Terran Chronicles) Page 12
