Explorations- First Contact

by Nathan Hystad (ed)

  Stevenson pushed off the nearby bulkhead and flew toward the hatchway. He caught the coaming around the doorway and turned. “Here!” he yelled, tossing a pistol to Montgomery. It spun slowly in the lack of gravity. “Defend the bridge.”

  The captain caught the pistol and looked up, but Stevenson was already gone, as was everyone else who had been on the bridge.

  Montgomery looked back down at the pistol. Defend the bridge? His knowledge of pistols came from his first couple of years in the military. That was…40 years ago. Really, 40 years? Where did the time go?

  The pistol was a foreign object in his hand. What was that button? Oh, yeah, the safety. He flipped it off, keeping his finger away from the trigger, and looked up at the door. Nothing.

  He sighted down the barrel of the pistol, holding it with both hands, then realized firing it in zero gravity was going to make him spin. Probably not a lot, but enough to mess up a second shot if one was needed. If the aliens really were inside the ship, “defending the bridge” would probably take all of his ammo…and would definitely require a second shot.

  Montgomery placed the pistol’s safety back on, then pushed off a nearby console. The shove sent him to the navigator’s seat; he turned the chair around to face the door, then strapped himself in.

  He aimed the pistol at the door, ready to face the danger. Damn it; the safety was still on. He armed the weapon and then aimed it again.

  Then he waited…and he waited some more.

  Just when he thought his arms couldn’t stay in position any longer, he saw movement at the door and fired, jerking the pistol to the side as he realized it was one of the crewmen. The bullet ricocheted twice before burying itself in the OSO’s chair.

  “What the hell?” the crewman yelled. Montgomery recognized John Tabor, one of the cooks. “Stevenson sent me up here to help you, not get shot by you, asshole.”

  “Sorry,” Montgomery said, somewhat sheepishly. “I thought you were one of the invaders.”

  “Do I look like a giant caterpillar?”

  “What?”

  “The aliens look like giant caterpillars; I don’t. If you could hold off shooting at me for a few minutes, I’m going to try to barricade us in.”

  Tabor tried to shut the door, but the frame had bent, and he couldn’t get the latching mechanism to seat. The cook swore softly to himself as he surveyed the bridge. Montgomery followed his eyes, not knowing what he was looking for.

  The bridge was a mess, lit only by three battle lanterns that had come on automatically. Ceiling tiles littered the area, and several pieces of equipment had broken free from their housings, including one of the bridge chairs. Tabor began collecting the free-floating garbage and placing it against the door.

  “What’s that going to do?” Montgomery asked.

  “All of it has mass,” Tabor replied. “If I can stack enough of this garbage against the door, it might keep them from opening the door…or at least slow them down long enough that we can shoot them when they enter.”

  The stack against the door grew at an incredible rate, and Montgomery saw the merit in the plan. If the aliens couldn’t find a way to get purchase in the passageway, they would have a hard time pushing against the mass stacked behind the door. And even if they could, it would slow the aliens down, giving the two men time to shoot them.

  But Montgomery hadn’t considered the effects of living on a high-gravity planet.

  The humans had one second of warning as the alien slid a yellow claw through a gap in the door, braced itself on the coaming, and then threw open the door. The monster was hideously strong, and the equipment stacked around the door exploded outward as if from a bomb, sending all manner of shrapnel flying into the humans’ faces.

  Montgomery saw the piece of pipe hurtling toward him and tried to catch it with his free hand, or at least deflect it, but the pipe’s spin made grabbing it impossible, and the opposite end came around and smacked him in the temple. A bright light clouded his vision.

  The giant yellow- and green-striped creature that entered the bridge was nightmarish, and the captain could see why the crewman had called it a caterpillar; the alien had a seven-foot-long tubular body supported by at least four sets of legs, giving it a caterpillar shape. The last pair of legs closest to the head had been adapted into arms, but the hands looked closer to birds’ claws, with two opposing pairs of grasping digits on each, and webbing between them. Three eyes were mounted across the top of its head, with a number of antennae waving above it; a mask hid the rest of its face from Montgomery’s view. One of the creature’s back feet grabbed onto the coaming, and it stopped halfway onto the bridge, its head turning side-to-side slowly as it surveyed its surroundings.

  Montgomery found focusing his vision difficult, so he aimed and fired several times in the alien’s direction. He couldn’t tell if the rounds hit or missed, but the alien turned toward him and pulled something from one of several straps that ran around its body.

  Before Montgomery could move, there was a flash of light and a searing pain in his right shoulder. The alien had shot him! He looked down and saw a large hole through his spacesuit, with bones sticking out from the damaged area. His arm was useless, and the pistol floated off in a spray of red toward the starboard bulkhead.

  “Help, Tabor!” Montgomery yelled as he looked for support.

  There would be none from the crewman; a piece of metal had gone through his chest and impaled him to the bulkhead. He was unmoving, his mouth open in a silent scream.

  The alien had followed the captain’s look and both turned back to look at each other. Montgomery reached for the latch that buckled him to the seat with his left hand; he could tell he was going to be too late. The alien aimed its weapon at Montgomery, but a series of holes appeared in its side as machine gun fire sounded from the passageway outside.

  The creature released its grip on the doorway, and it floated into the room. Montgomery screamed as the creature jumped forward at him again, but then breathed a sigh of relief as Stevenson pushed the creature out of the way.

  “Thanks,” he grunted as the pain surged through him. “Thought it…had me.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t shoot them in the head or on the top half of their bodies. They have some sort of shell that’s tougher than hell. The lasers barely scratch it, which is why we’re back to bullets.”

  Stevenson flew across the room to where Tabor was pinned to the bulkhead, but didn’t spend any time with him. He picked up something next to the cook, flew back to where Montgomery was, and handed it to him. A first aid kit.

  “You’ll have to take care of your shoulder yourself,” Stevenson said. “I’ve got to get back to the barricade to help defend the ship. I just came back to deal with this one that broke through in another area.”

  Lights flickered on across the bridge and the machinery began popping and beeping. “That’s the auxiliary power coming back on. It’s the best we’re going to be able to do. As soon as you can delete the logs, do it. I doubt we can hold out long.” He looked at Montgomery’s shoulder. “Can you manage that?”

  “I…think so.” Montgomery mumbled. His shoulder hurt like hell, and any movement sent waves of pain across his body as the bone ends grated on each other.

  “I’ve got guys that are hurt worse defending the barricade for you!” Stevenson yelled. “You’ve got to do this, or the aliens will find Earth! I think it’s pretty apparent we don’t want that!”

  He kicked off and floated toward the doorway. Before he reached it, a series of laser bolts hit him in the chest, and blood exploded from his body. Instead of gracefully grabbing the coaming, Stevenson flew past it to slam face first into the opposite bulkhead. His body bounced back limply.

  A giant green- and gold-striped caterpillar pushed the corpse out of the way. It looked into the bridge, then entered, cradling something that looked like a large rifle in its front claws. Montgomery froze for a moment as it pointed the weapon at him, then he remembered his mission
and pushed off the chair toward the master console. The alien fired, and the bolts speared into the chair, leaving several smoldering circles where he had been moments before.

  In his rush, Montgomery missed his aim, and he went past his target, flailing with his good arm. If his right arm had worked, he could have caught the station as he passed; instead, all he got was a look at the screen as he flew by.

  The computer was ready for login.

  Montgomery reached the far wall and latched onto a nearby handhold. Orienting himself, he turned back to find the creature aiming the rifle at him. Its claws pressed a pair of matching studs on opposite sides of the rifle, but nothing happened. The creature’s claws opened and closed on the studs again, but the weapon still did not fire.

  The creature released the rifle with one hand and pulled something from the back end of it. With a flick of its claw, a green box went spinning off to the side.

  Realizing he had a momentary reprieve, Montgomery pushed off the wall, this time angling so his good hand could catch the console. He came to a jarring stop and almost blacked out as a fresh wave of pain wracked him.

  Bracing himself with his legs, he entered his information into the terminal as quickly as he could with one hand. He had just hit the ‘Enter’ key when he heard a ‘click’ from behind him and the unmistakable sound of electronics powering up.

  Turning, he saw the alien aiming at him again, and he pushed off the console as the creature fired. The laser bolts missed, except for a glancing shot that charred the suit on his right leg.

  The captain grabbed the next console he passed and pulled himself behind it. Unready for the target to suddenly stop, the alien fired several shots that led him too much. Montgomery looked around wildly. He needed a weapon. His pistol had traveled to the opposite end of the bridge. He wouldn’t be able to get it without exposing himself; he would be dead before he could reach it.

  His situation was impossible. He couldn’t charge the alien. It would kill him before he got halfway to it. Even if he made it to the creature, he had no way of injuring it. The alien’s hard outer shell would make damaging it difficult, and he not only didn’t have a weapon, but with the gravity out, he didn’t have any leverage either. He was screwed.

  Montgomery sighed. He needed the pistol; there was no way he could deal with the alien without it. The weapon floated on the other side of the bridge; the helmsman’s console would provide a little cover for him once he got to it, but he had to cross six feet of open space to get there.

  The seat section from one of the stations floated nearby, and his hand snaked out to retrieve it. The alien fired several times at the movement, but missed the captain’s hand. Montgomery peeked over the console then ducked back down as the alien fired at him. The creature was inching its way toward him. There wasn’t any time; he had to move now!

  Montgomery adjusted his grip on the seat cushion and threw it over the console as hard as he could. The alien fired at it, giving Montgomery his chance to push off toward the pistol. The alien changed its aim and fired at him, but missed. Montgomery continued toward the pistol, pushing off with his good hand and both feet where able. He dove across the last gap and grabbed the pistol but then crashed into the bulkhead.

  He saw nothing but the white of pure pain as the bones in his shoulder crunched together, and weakly pushed himself away from the bulkhead, knowing that to remain in one position was to die. His vision cleared to find the alien hung up on the remains of his captain’s chair. One of the caterpillar’s harnesses had caught on the armrest, preventing the creature from turning far enough to shoot at Montgomery, and it was struggling to free itself.

  Montgomery aimed and fired, and the bullet ricocheted off the top of the alien’s head. The creature contracted, and the harness broke, freeing the alien to turn and aim at Montgomery. The captain was trapped; he couldn’t reach the wall to push off. With nothing else to do, he fired at the alien, aiming lower on its head. He hit the strap on the alien’s mask and, with a soft ‘pop’ the mask blew off its head. Water spewed forth as if from a hose.

  The creature dropped its rifle and reached up to secure the mask, but before it could, Montgomery fired again, and his shot vanished into the dark hole of the creature’s mouth, revealed when the mask came off. The alien spasmed twice and then stilled.

  Amazed, Montgomery stared at the creature down the barrel of the pistol, expecting it to move, but it didn’t. The reactive force of the pistol firing had given him some backward momentum, though, and he bumped gently into the bulkhead behind him. He jammed the pistol into a pocket, grabbed the wall, and pushed off. Although he went a little off to the right, he was able to reach out with his left hand and grab the intended console, and he sighed in relief.

  The console was ready. With one finger he typed in “Erase Logs,” and pressed the ‘Enter’ key. “Are you sure?” the console asked. Yes! His mind screamed. Montgomery pressed the ‘Y’ key, and the console said, “Please enter your password.”

  His back erupted in fire, and he found himself pushed to the side of the console as a blade erupted from his chest. The force of his impalement spun him a little more and he saw it—another alien had come in behind him.

  Montgomery knew he was dead; the blade sticking out of his chest guaranteed that. He could feel his life slipping away…but he had to erase the logs. Grunting in pain, he pulled himself back to the console with his good hand. His sight graying, he typed in his password.

  His hand descended for the ‘Enter’ key, but the alien slammed into him, spinning him off to the left and enveloping him in waves of pain. He hurt so badly…and then he bounced off the bulkhead and hurt even worse. His body betrayed him. He missed the handhold and was unable to control his motion; he rebounded and spun slowly around. The console went past below him, still waiting for him to press the ‘Enter’ key. Then he saw the alien, looking down the barrel of its rifle at him, and Montgomery knew he had failed. His pain vanished in a flash of light.

  Chris Kennedy Bio

  A bestselling Science Fiction/Fantasy author and speaker, Chris Kennedy is a former naval aviator and elementary school principal. Chris' stories include the "Occupied Seattle," "Theogony" and "Codex Regius" science fiction series, the "War for Dominance" fantasy trilogy, and stories in the “Four Horsemen” mercenary mecha series. Get his free book, "Shattered Crucible," and join his mailing list at his website, http://chriskennedypublishing.com.

  Called "fantastic" and "a great speaker," he has coached hundreds of beginning authors and budding novelists on how to self-publish their stories at a variety of conferences, conventions and writing guild presentations. He is the author of the award-winning #1 bestseller, "Self-Publishing for Profit: How to Get Your Book Out of Your Head and Into the Stores," as well as the leadership training book, "Leadership from the Darkside."

  Chris lives in Virginia Beach, Virginia, with his wife and family. He is currently working with the Navy to help shape Navy training processes for the year 2025. He is the holder of a doctorate in educational leadership and master's degrees in both business and public administration.

  Follow Chris on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/chriskennedypublishing.biz and on Twitter at @ChrisKennedy110.

  End of the Line

  By Robert M. Campbell

  Initiating…

  …

  >_

  “Hello.

  “I am P.E.T. 2157, but my crew calls me Pierre.

  “How do you do?

  “I am the Advisor assigned to the displacement ship, HMCS-DS001 Halifax, the Canadian deep space research and diplomatic vessel destined for KIC 8462852, also known as Tabby’s Star. This was one of the systems referenced by the Sphere ship’s data, and believed to be inhabited by beings building some kind of star-encapsulating machinery, which might account for the loss in stellar flux… Forgive me. You already know all that.

  “I am a synthetic agent made up of the behavioral models of seventeen past Canadian Prime Minister
s, six medical doctors across various specialties, three psychologists, and one engineer. I am versed in thirty-seven UEF languages, with access to many more, and contain a vast store of historical and scientific data. But, to borrow a phrase from Aristotle, I feel that I am more than the sum of my parts.

  “My role of Advisor aboard the Halifax is to offer consulting and support to the senior officers and crew. I am also tasked with cryptanalysis and linguistics facilitation should we successfully make contact with our target. It is my sincere hope that we do.”

  [A pause, followed by technical readouts showing core statistics and operational parameters.]

  Man in lab coat: “He appears intact.”

  Another voice, the owner unseen: “Please proceed.”

  “We don’t know much about the life forms responsible for the change around Tabby’s Star. The Sphere ship was, as in all other things, cryptic. Coordinates and locations deduced and calculated, more than concretely described. The aliens are seen to be collaborative and highly advanced, though they have made no attempts to contact any outside species.

  “The patterns of construction we had observed on Earth during the nearly 280 years of the alien construction project were deemed to be highly organized. Large jumps in stellar flux were later determined to be the destruction of the system’s planets. Large machinery was built for the sole purpose of accruing the vast resources they needed to build a 1.5 AU sphere around the host star.

  “A Dyson sphere.”

  ***

  Begin VR playback, Bridge : 2178-08-19 21:53:17

  “Final displacement in three, two, one, …” The first officer, Commander Harriet Edmunds, ran through the countdown, wrist through one of the straps along the upper railings, boots planted firmly on the deck. She was wearing her navy blues, Canadian Space Agency crest on her chest under her rank bars, markings of the HMCS Halifax under those decorating her jacket. Crisp white shirt and black tie underneath, her grey hair wrapped in a tight bun at the back of her head, she turned and pointed to Lieutenant James Franklin, manning the helm. An array of displays and instruments floated around his station, indicating their destination.