by Luke Romyn
“Yeah, a fucking minotaur got loose again. I guess they couldn’t stop it this time. How long until we can move in and retake the base?”
The soldier, who Talbot now saw wore the rank of colonel, shook his head. “I don’t think I made myself clear, sir. Atlantis is off the grid. Gone. The prototype nuclear generator appears to have been destroyed. As a result, the entire pyramid in which the rift was housed is now, once again, flooded.”
“Shit! How the hell did that happen?”
“We have no idea, sir,” replied the soldier.
Wes began barking questions, but Talbot tuned out, his attention drawn to one of the large LED screens. A series of glyphs were scrolling across the screen, hauntingly familiar, like a recollection on the tip of his tongue. He stepped closer, not daring to blink.
“Wes,” Talbot said, but the commando was still trying to find out what was going on. “Hey! Crocodile Dundee!” he yelled, causing Wes’s head to snap around. “Look at this,” said Talbot, pointing at the screen.
Wes focused on the glyphs, incomprehension clear upon his features. “What am I looking at?”
“You can’t read it?”
Wes shook his head. Talbot called out to the rest of the room, “Can anyone here read this?”
A few muttered negative replies as well as more shaking heads in response to his query.
“God help me,” muttered Talbot. To Wes he said, “This describes the location of a second rift; another way to get through into Tartarus – like a back door.”
“Where is it?” asked Wes.
Talbot ignored him for a moment, intently reading what was on the screen. “Oh... shit,” he whispered as the meaning of another set of glyphs snapped into focus. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What?”
“We’ve only got about two hours until the original rift expands.”
“Expands? What happens then?” asked Wes. Talbot finally looked away from the screen, his visage haunted, and Wes’s eyes narrowed in concern. “Doctor Harrison, what happens when the rift expands?”
“It won’t stop,” he said softly. “The two dimensions will merge, and all life as we know it will cease.”
“What’s that mean? Leave out all the crap about dimensions and shit. What will actually happen if this thing expands like you say it will?”
“It’s not me who’s predicting it will happen, the people who built the machinery for the rift say it will.” Talbot rubbed his head in frustration, his mind feeling like it was about to shut down completely.
“That thing I was just reading was like a centuries-old instruction manual for the rift,” continued Talbot. “It says that if it’s left open for too long this will happen. Judging from the time it was activated, we only have a couple of hours until it has something equivalent to a system meltdown and explodes free from all constraints. It’ll no longer be like a puddle, it’ll become more like a tsunami, enveloping everything in its path.”
Silence filled the room as Talbot finished speaking.
“Bugger,” muttered Wes, picking at something in his teeth.
CHAPTER 7
“Alright, so where’s this other rift?” asked Wes.
“It’s impossible,” replied Talbot. “We’ll never make it.”
“I’ll decide what’s impossible, mate. Where do we have to go?”
Talbot consulted the glyphs again, making sure he wasn’t mistaken. “It’s located 25 degrees 20 minutes and 41seconds south, 131 degrees 1 minute and 57 seconds east.”
Wes moved to a digital world map and punched in the coordinates. He paused, confusion etched upon his face, as the results of his search flashed onto the screen.
“Are you sure about these coordinates?”
Talbot nodded silently.
“Fuck me,” muttered Wes. “I’m going home.”
He spun away, and Talbot saw the image on the screen, closing his eyes as frustration threatened to overcome him. His fears were confirmed. Upon the screen was the image of a large orange stony mountain; widely recognized as the biggest rock in the world.
Australia’s Ayers Rock.
The other side of the planet.
To close the rift from the other side, they had to somehow circumnavigate half the globe in under two hours – a feat even the thermo-tube or thermo-shot would be unable to accomplish.
“Damn,” muttered Talbot. They’d failed.
“Are you coming or not?” Wes called from the doorway.
Talbot looked around, confused. “There’s no way we can get there in time. Nothing on Earth can get around the world in two hours.”
Wes chuckled. “Then we’ll have to use something not from Earth,” he said cryptically, striding off down the hallway.
Several soldiers stared at Wes quizzically, unsure of how to proceed. Their commander sat silently – potentially traumatized – in a chair by the far side of the room, while the man who had threatened to cut off his head now appeared to be in charge. Talbot understood their confusion, it mirrored his own.
“The hell with this,” he muttered, exiting the room and jogging to catch up with Wes.
“What did you mean?” he asked, finally drawing alongside the commando.
Several soldiers, including the colonel who had spoken to Wes earlier, had also followed, jogging behind them.
Wes grinned. “Well, you know where we are. What do you think I was implying?” Talbot stumbled and stopped in shock. He couldn’t mean –
“Come on, puppy,” said Wes with a grin. “Come and see the spaceship.”
Okay. He did mean it.
Area 51.
Aliens.
And apparently a spaceship.
This was going to be cool.
***
Talbot stood, mouth agape, staring at the singular most unimpressive thing he had ever seen.
Three axles, ten wheels, with MACK in chrome lettering across its front grill, and a large tank affixed to its back.
A septic tanker truck.
“Well?” drawled Wes. “What do ya think? Her name’s Bessie.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No joke, puppy. That there is the most advanced piece of technology you’re ever likely to see.”
“Stop calling me puppy,” murmured Talbot, staring at the hundreds of people scurrying about the septic tanker, their white lab coats flapping. They moved smoothly between different pieces of equipment, each hooked up to the tanker truck. It all looked very surreal.
“What’s going on here?” asked Talbot finally.
“There’s our transport,” replied Wes with a loud chuckle. “Pretty, ain’t she?”
“You’re telling me this thing is a spaceship? What does it do, travel from planet to planet collecting poop?”
Wes laughed. “I can’t believe you actually said poop. And to be perfectly honest this isn’t a spaceship – at least not in the strictest sense of the word. It’s a prototype plane which also has the ability to travel through space and time... when it wants to. Oh, and the most exciting thing about it is that it’s sentient.”
“What?” gasped Talbot.
“Yeah, I had to ask what sentient meant too. It means it’s conscious, and aware of its environment.”
“I know what sentient means,” said Talbot testily. “What do you mean about it being sentient? It’s a septic truck!”
“Nah. It only looks like one. It can look like anything it wants in order to blend in with its environment. I guess it thought nobody would want to investigate a truck carrying around shit, eh?”
“I think the ship’s right,” muttered Talbot. “You can’t be serious about this, though. I mean, does it even fly?”
“Yeah, it flies; changes into something different when it does too. The last time I took it out for a spin I got into a heap of trouble.”
“We all remember that incident!” shouted the general from behind them. Wes shot him a warning glance, and the general paused mid-stride, but continued with his tirade – a
lbeit from a safe distance. “You destroyed a United States aircraft carrier!”
“You always bring that up, you whiney little bastard,” snorted Wes, turning away. “How was I supposed to know it would cut straight through the hull?”
Talbot must have looked confused, so Wes attempted to explain. “It has the ability to travel faster than anything you can imagine,” he said, pointing toward the septic spacecraft. “It does it by folding time and space and cutting between dimensions, you follow?” Talbot didn’t, but nodded his head anyway. “At any rate, when I came in to land her on the deck of the USS America, we found that this trans-dimensional drive also warped matter in such a way as to cut straight through it. Before I knew it I was in the ocean just southeast of Cape Hatteras. They had to cover it up by saying that they’d used the ship for target practice or some shit. I’m just glad I was able to fly straight out of the water.”
“Of course you could!” squealed the general. “It’s designed to survive travelling through both space and time! A little water isn’t going to damage it!”
“Now, now. Calm down, Nancy, before you say something we’ll both regret.”
The general seethed, but held his tongue.
Wes grinned, causing the general to fume even more, but he stewed in silence.
“Alright if we take this thing, Nancy?” Wes asked the general.
“Do I have a choice?” grated the general.
“None at all,” replied Wes cheerfully. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite.” Wes strolled casually up to the driver’s side door and grasped the handle.
The septic truck swirled in a haze, abruptly shifting and transforming, yet seeming to retain its original form at same time. It was as though it hadn’t altered at all, merely Talbot’s perception of it had.
Wes now stood beside a sleek, aerodynamically configured super craft… called Bessie.
Staring up at the windowless silver aircraft, Talbot could clearly see where the government had developed the technology for the thermo-shot and thermo-carrier; there was no mistaking the similarity between both craft and this awesome piece of futuristic transport.
“Are you gonna jerk off all day or get in the fucking thing?” barked Wes. Talbot snapped into motion.
What had previously been a door was now a perfectly circular gateway into the vehicle. There was no actual door, just an opening into the dark interior of the shiny transport. Talbot hesitated.
“Get in there, ya sissy,” laughed Wes, grabbing him by the shoulder and hurling him into the ship.
Talbot stumbled through the opening, banging his knees on the edge as he tried to pull his legs clear. Cursing, he stood up and bashed his head on something in the dark, dropping him back to the floor.
Laughter echoed through the murky interior, and Talbot peered into the inkiness just as the hatch closed, cutting off the little brightness he had. Intense light suddenly pierced the cabin – sterile, like that of fluorescent tubing, but much harsher. Talbot’s eyes watered at the sudden change and he quickly squeezed them shut.
“How the hell did you survive this long?” muttered Wes. “All you had to do was get in this damn thing, and yet you’re already bleeding!”
Talbot gingerly felt his head, pulling away as shards of agony shot through to his scalp. His fingers had touched sliced skin and his hand came away covered in blood.
“Clumsy bastard,” mused Wes, crouching down beside him. “Let me see what you’ve done.”
Wes gazed at the wound momentarily. “Just a scratch,” he said. “Hang on, old son. I’ll have you fixed up in a jiffy.”
Talbot remained silent while Wes pulled open one of the Velcro-secured pockets on the leg of his black cargo pants. He removed what appeared to be some sort of can.
An aerosol hiss like spray-paint reached his ears a moment before more pain shrieked through his wounded scalp. Staggering upright, but careful not to crack his head again, he stumbled over to the wall, grasping his head. Slowly the agony subsided.
Glancing up, Talbot realized the internal wall was much like the external in that it was silvery and somewhat reflective. His distorted reflection gazed back at him, and he noticed something white contrasting against his darker hair.
“What the hell have you done?” Talbot grated through clenched teeth.
“It’s called medi-foam, mate,” answered Wes chirpily. “Awesome shit for field-dressing wounds.”
“It hurts,” winced Talbot. “Badly.”
“Yeah, it’ll do that.” Wes’s tone was short, businesslike. “Now get over it, we don’t have time for you to cry.”
Talbot began to splutter a response, but Wes spun and strode away. Talbot’s gaze followed him across the space and all thoughts of argument washed away as he focused on the area the SAS commando had moved to.
The bridge.
It was beyond anything Spielberg could imagine. Rodenberry’s Enterprise paled in comparison. Stunningly, utterly, and completely... bare!
The normal systems he would expect on any vehicle were absent. There were no control panels, instruments, or even windows. No screens of information were visible to Talbot.
And yet it wasn’t featureless. The entire control area appeared to be some kind of strange, flexible, liquid-like metal. Not liquid as a pool of water was liquid; more that the shapes of the bridge shimmered and flowed like the ocean, while still appearing firm enough to manipulate. Kind of like Jell-O. It wasn’t until Wes stepped up to a column-like apparatus that Talbot realized how close his observation was to the truth.
The Australian commando extended both arms toward the column and it expanded laterally, flowing completely around and surrounding him. It swiftly molded itself to his body, encapsulating him from neck to toe, leaving only his head clear.
“Get on up here, Professor,” called Wes. Talbot took position beside him. “Stand in front of that other Physical Control Modulator – better known as a PCM – and point your fingers toward it.”
Talbot did as instructed and instantly the metallic substance reached for him. He leaped back, out of reach, and the PCM swiftly reformed to its original shape.
“We don’t have time for you to be a pussy!” barked Wes. “This thing won’t move unless you’re properly secured. So get back in position and stand still!”
Hesitantly, Talbot shuffled back, dread in his every movement. Too soon he found himself once more standing before the PCM. It grasped his fingers, sliding over them and around his arms like quicksand, locking them in place as it encapsulated his body. The texture of the PCM felt cold, gloppy like… like….
“It’s like swimming in snot, eh?” said Wes with a grin, obviously reading his expression. “Everyone says the same thing.”
As utterly disgusting as the commando’s observation was, Talbot found he had to agree with it. The feel of the PCM was foreign, yet the image Wes suggested came horrifically close to the truth. Talbot suppressed a shudder. He was swimming in snot within some sort of spaceship which had formerly disguised itself as a septic truck. So much for intelligent life in outer space....
Finally, the PCM finished encasing him and seemed to harden slightly, partially relieving the uncomfortable quality it had previously held. Talbot found he was still able to move within the coating and, glancing over at Wes, he soon understood why.
Two lumps moved beneath the shiny surface of Wes’s PCM, indicating his hands were manipulating something.
A mist appeared about a foot and a half in front of the commando’s face, swiftly solidifying. Talbot strained to see what it was, making out a thin film, barely a millimeter thick.
Wes noticed Talbot craning his neck, trying to get a look, and he grinned, manipulating another control within the confines of the PCM. A similar film began to form in front of Talbot’s face, suspended midair without any sort of support. In his shock, it took Talbot a moment to realize it was actually some sort of screen, identical to what was hovering in the air before Wes.
Buzzin
g across the screen were groups of numbers and equations, moving too quickly for Talbot to fully take in. Glancing over at Wes, he noticed the commando seemed to have no problem with the intense speed of the calculations flying before his eyes. Wes’s casual expression changed little as mathematical equations which would have baffled most minds whizzed inches in front of his face.
Who is this guy? wondered Talbot for the hundredth time.
He realized he knew almost nothing about the man he now relied upon to protect him, other than his former involvement with the Australian Special Air Services. Somehow this man commanded the respect of everyone he came into contact with, even the President of the United States.
“Stop staring at me, princess,” snapped Wes, though he was still looking at the screen before him. “It makes me horny.”
Talbot shook his head slightly and returned his gaze to the screen before him. Once more numbers and patterns seemed to almost come into focus, but then his attention failed, and he lost the concentration required. Even if he had been able to follow what was going on, it would have been useless unless he were an expert mathematician.... What the...?
The numbers, while moving too fast for his mind to grasp, were human in origin. There was no way that a coincidence could be that huge. They were in an alien spacecraft, and it was displaying human numeric equations on a screen no thicker than a human hair.
“Why are the numbers human, Wes?” he asked.
“About time you caught on,” replied the commando. “I was starting to wonder if that ‘Doctor’ before your name was the type that came with chewing gum. You see, this ship ain’t exactly alien.”
Talbot gasped. “It can’t be from Earth. Our technology is nowhere near as advanced as this!” He went to point to the ship with his hand, but his body was still trapped within the PCM. He satisfied himself by indicating around with a sweep of his head.
“Yeah, it’s not,” agreed Wes. “At least not yet.”
“You mean...?”
“Yep. This baby was designed and built right here on Earth by scientists working for the Australian military about sixty years from now.”
