by M A Scrawl
They had already confirmed it had no radiation emitting from it, but they were still nervous. Despite the testing, something seemed to radiate fear into the hearts of the people looking at it. It could very well still be a bomb, just not nuclear. One wrong move, and a lot of people could die.
Sahara hated to think of how the people inside The Ship had died, going through depressurization along with their blood freezing.
Contrary to common belief, you don’t explode in space. Instead, your lungs collapse from sudden change in pressure, the side of your body facing the sun boils and pops, while the other side freezes the blood to near absolute zero. It kind of made one prefer to explode than to go through that.
He had already contacted Caspian Bard, and CIA operatives were coming to take control of this situation. Sahara almost felt disappointed that he was no longer going to be the one in control. So, they would do as much as they could in the short time they had.
Inside of the ship, there was a lot of what seemed to be chairs, screens, as well as bodies strapped to the wall, burnt and frozen to unrecognizability. A geneticist by the name of Alexander Tundra had already been sent to come and analyze the bodies.
In a separate room, away from what seemed to be a Control Deck, was a mass of working equipment. Sahara, as well as the scientists, had no idea what it was meant for. There were three different cylinders filled with a liquid similar to water, but not quite. When they had moved the machines, it had sloshed around, moving like something thicker than water. There would be more tests later.
Whatever its purpose, the most popular existent theory stated that this was a Russian ship mission which had failed and become lost in space.
Sahara could immediately see several things wrong with that theory. If Russians had sent out a ship, Facility C would know. The entire purpose of Facility C was to clock other countries activity, especially Russia. The Ship also seemed to have come from deep space, so if Russia had somehow sent a shuttle without alerting Facility C, it needed to have shot out into space, then come back to go to America.
Still, there didn’t seem to be much else to go on.
It was possible that Kirby could give some answers, but Sahara had left her in charge back at Facility C so that he could come and see The Ship for himself.
Sahara stood, still examining the ship with its green hue on the outside, and the gaping hole on the side. He looked at the strange design of the exhaust, and the scientists had already concluded it was a completely new design, unknown to the U.S. This would be confirmed on the next shuttle down, which would bring even more scientists from Facility C to Earth. Maybe they could explain what was happening here.
Sahara kind of needed to come down to Earth, for his own sanity. The ground on Earth seemed more...solid. It was nice to see something that wasn’t entirely man-made once in a while.
Every muscle in his body itched to bolt away from the lab, away from people who would take him back to Facility C. Sahara knew it was entirely irrational, but that didn’t keep the feeling from spreading. Every time he took a step on that satellite, it felt like he was pacing in his own prison.
He did not want to go back to his cell, but what could he do? He would be abandoning his post, labeled as a deserter.
He could leave, he knew. He could finally retire and leave everything he's done behind.
But doing that would leave poor Abby behind, wondering why he had left her, the position of overseer thrown onto her shoulders.
-Chapter 5-
-Tundra-
Alexander Tundra sat, belted to the back of the Shuttle as the ship shuddered and bounced as it went through the atmosphere of Earth. He gripped the belt tighter in his hand, his knuckles showing white. Everyone else on the shuttle looked calm as well, and Tundra felt he was the only one panicking.
Tundra remembered the first time he flew in a shuttle. It had been when he'd first come to Facility C, and he had thrown up several times. Hopefully it wouldn’t occur again for this trip.
He didn't especially like space, but he didn't hate it either. It was something more like a uneasy truce between him and it. It kept him away from Earth and allowed him a chance to get away from his old life, and he...Well…
Tundra grinned a little. He and others were more like a parasite in the side of space. Taking protection and opportunity in exchange for nothing. But then, what could they give back to space? Maybe space wanted them there?
Tundra shook out of his thoughts. He hated thoughts of anything "above" humans, and would rather avoid such questions. His family also had a history of admitting under authority, which was part of the reason he was in Facility C.
Tundra himself was tall, with long charcoal black hair that went past his ears, and a distinct white scar that streaked across his left cheek. He was very handsome, although he did have pale skin. Everybody on Facility C had pale skin. For today, he had to wear his lab-coat uniform with his name stamped on his chest. It was a nice coat, but Tundra didn't like it simply because of the way it rubbed against the back of his neck.
He itched to take it off, but if he did, he risked being sent back to Facility C. He hadn’t been on the solid Earth in a long time, and nothing had been quite this exciting.
Finally, after two hours of shuddering and shaking, the shuttle finally stopped, hopefully landing at the site of The Ship. He’d been called to identify some bodies using his genetic equipment.
He slowly let go of the belt biting into his skin, and took off the belt. He shakily stood, quivering slightly. "Is it done? Have we landed?"
The pilot emerged from the Control Deck at the front of the shuttle, smiling, as if he were mocking Tundras obvious discomfort. "Yes," he answered. "We're done. I have a bag you can hurl in if you need it." Tundra pushed through him to the exit. "No," he answered abruptly, suddenly clutching his stomach. "I think I'll be fine.
The pilot backed off, "Okay, that's fine too."
Tundra stumbled out of the shuttle, groaning softly. He gagged, then hurled on the grass, much to the dismay of the pilot.
The set-up camp that revolved around The Ship was about thirty feet away from where they had landed. Tundra stumbled over to the set-up camp and strode to the ship that had supposedly been wandering through space. People around Facility C had said it was Russian, but why would a Russian Ship be in deep space?
His breath caught as he took a look at the green hull, reflecting the sun into his eyes. Not like any shuttle he’d seen.
He marveled at its design, and made his way to the interior. There, he saw the scientists in the hazmat suits, and one urged him to go back out and put one on before returning.
A few minutes later, he was standing in the inside of the ship, examining the burnt body of one of the ships occupants. He grimaced, and inserted a needle into the person's body.
Turning back and exiting The Ship, Tundra went to a small piece of equipment the size of a suitcase. Mixing the blood with another chemical, and placing that into the machine, Tundra would get genetic results within thirty minutes. Then he would be able to tell what country the person inside The Ship was from.
Tundra turned and went back to the ship. He walked inside again, with his hazmat suit on. He looked at the bodies on the floor, pieces of paper with numbers on them labeling the bodies. He stared long and hard at their large heads and long limbs. He had asked the scientists about the long limbs and large abnormally large heads, but they had said it was a result of swelling up in near-absolute zero temperatures. It seemed to be something of debate between the scientists, and also of bafflement.
Tundra turned slowly, cocking his head at an entrance in the side of the ship. He walked towards it, avoiding the bodies in his way. He walked in, looking at all the equipment.
It was lunch break, no one was in the ship with him, which gave him a chance to examine it alone.
He walked up to one of the machines, examining the empty screen, and noting the lights. The scientists hadn’t examined the machines, as th
ey decided they would leave it to the CIA operatives. Tundra made his way to one of the biggest machines, one that had a glass cylinder filled with liquid.
He looked at the screen on this machine, wondering if he dared try and touch it. Ignoring the alerts in his mind to leave it be, he brushed against the screen. A short beep followed, and Tundra yelped, leaping backward.
The screen slowly turned on, displaying a white canvas with many buttons that had strange patterns on it. Or maybe those were to a language he didn’t recognize. Tundra took a step closer, observing it. It looked somewhat like a black keyboard, but the strange characters were spread far apart, and displayed all over the screen. He reached out, about to touch it.
"Hey!"
Tundra spun, coming face-to-face with one of the other scientists. He was standing in the doorway, hands pointed towards him. "You aren’t supposed to be here! What are you doing?" Tundra looked back at the screen, which had turned dark because of him not touching it anymore. He looked back at the scientist. "Nothing," he whispered. "Nothing at all."
-Chapter 6-
-Trouble Sparking-
Supposedly, Sahara heard they were about 50 miles from any kind of civilization, just to make sure that they were not seen by prying eyes. Looking around, Sahara could see that truth. Tall trees crowded around them, swaying gently in the breeze. Birds sang above them, yet no one seemed to notice except him. Was Sahara the only one who felt like Facility C was a prison?
He had also taken the chance to examine The Ship, and it seemed to have something ‘off’ about it. It was disturbing enough with the deformed dead bodies inside, but there seemed to be something else.
After Lunch, Sahara had got into his set-up office with a smaller display desk. Which was basically an opaque tarp set over a metal frame. The desk in the middle of the room seemed out of place compared to the bare green grass it was set on.
Sahara sat in the chair, pondering what he’d seen. The Ship was not Russian, but his suspicions would be more closely identified to what a lunatic might think. Maybe Kirby could help him?
Sahara turned on his desk, placing his hand on the top and confirming it was him. He summoned Kirby by sending her a message, and waited. Back on Facility C, she would see a red button going on and off on her workpad.
After several minutes, a new display popped up on his desk. Touching it, a camera view of Ms. Kirby showed. She looked up and smiled.
"How’s Earth Sahara?" she asked with amusement. He grinned, "Same old Earth, Abby.”
"Why did you call me? Is there anything out of place?" she asked, looking without a smile at Sahara. He grunted, pulling his hands in front of him, leaning on the desk.
"Just some doubts I’m having.”
Kirby looked confused, almost as if she couldn’t possibly comprehend Sahara ever being uncertain.
”The Ship," he began, then dropped off. "It's not exactly Russian." Kirby frowned. "Are you thinking it's from another country, separate from Russia?"
Sahara shook his head, leaning back against his chair. "I don't know Abby..." He said, whispering. "There's just something off with it, if you know what I mean." Kirby raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I don't," she said, staring hard at the screen on her side.
He sighed, and stood up. "Well, I'll figure it out eventually. Over and out." She nodded slowly, and the display went off. Sahara stood, weary. "This is going to get frustrating somehow," he muttered to himself as he walked away.
-----
After grabbing the genetic answers from the D.N.A. mapping machine, Tundra grabbed the data and turned to them, examining the results, which should show the country that The Ships’ occupants belonged to.
Lets see, American N/A, Russia N/A...ERROR ERROR-
He choked on his coffee in surprise, and a moment later, burst into Saharas’ office. He wasn't there. "Blasted-" Tundra muttered under his breath as he set out, looking for the Overseer.
"Where's the Overseer?" he asked one of the scientists passing him. The man raised an eyebrow, but pointed towards the lunch area, and Tundras’ stride increased before he broke into a jog. He entered the area, and almost ran into Sahara at the entrance. Tundra stumbled, and regained his balance. He looked at Sahara's suit, and straightened. Sahara raised an eyebrow.
"Yes scientist-" he glanced at Tundras uniform, "Tundra." Tundra stood straighter, still holding his mug of coffee, its contents now all over his uniform. "Sir!" He hesitated, then handed the D.N.A. results over to Sahara. Sahara looked confused, but took them. He glanced over them. Tundra pointed at a series of N/A's plastered on the page, next to words stating European, Russian, American, and several other countries.
"And?" Sahara asked, bored. Tundras’ anger flared up slightly.
"According to this, the people on that ship have no nationality, and have no D.N.A. related to anyone on Earth. Along with that, the D.N.A. doesn't even match a human. Something is seriously wrong here." Sahara looked up, his expression concerned.
"Check the machine then, and make sure there's nothing wrong with it before we make any conclusions. You may be entirely right, but let's make sure" Sahara said, walking away from the lunch area.
Tundra nodded slowly, but he knew there was nothing wrong with the machine. It had a self-checking program that ran on all equipment in Facility C. They couldn’t allow expensive equipment like that break down easily.
-----
“There's nothing wrong with it.”
“I know,” Tundra grumbled, arms crossed.
“Well why did you need me here?” the mechanic asked, placing the equipment down. Tundra rolled his eyes. “Because the Overseer said so.”
“Well it has a self-checking program. Seems like a strange thing to ask. Doesn’t he know of that program?”
“He should. Maybe he forgot,” Tundra replied, leaning against a metal frame.
“Well there is other stuff I needed to be doing,” the mechanic grumbled. “A poor decision if you ask me.”
“Good thing nobody asked you,” Tundra said, eyes hard. The mechanic didn’t notice though, and he lifted his toolbox with a grunt.
“Everybody's needing me, all at the same time,” the mechanic complained. “All that just for a little working machine, but of course, if the Overseer says so.” The last bit, Tundra noticed, was laced with sarcasm.
“Why do you think the equipment went haywire?” the mechanic asked Tundra, gesturing towards the genetic equipment.
“What else could it be?” Tundra said quietly, waiting for the mechanic to go away. He didn’t, instead deciding to stare at Tundra with an expectant expression. Tundra rolled his eyes.
“No nationality, not human, right? This is something incredible! This is first contact!”
The mechanics eyes shot up, concerned. “You mean aliens?” Tundra shrugged. “Call it what you want.”
The mechanic nodded, grabbing his toolbox and leaving. “Aliens…” he muttered.
-Chapter 7-
-Trouble-
“Tundra, do you know why you are here?”
Tundra grit his teeth, arms crossed. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“We heard from a reliable source that you think that the humans aboard The Ship are aliens.”
Tundra was standing with two soldiers on either side of him, and the S.S.S. Captain stood in front of him, arms crossed.
“And?” Tundra asked, expectantly.
The Captains expression hardened. “You know you can’t go around saying things like that. It tends to get people thinking the wrong way, and I don’t want to have some crazy conspiracy going on.”
Tundras anger flared, and his hands tightened into fists. He’d always had an anger problem, and being treated like a child tended to get people on the wrong side of him. Tundra took a deep breath, resisting the urge to punch the man in the jaw.
“I’m..not..wrong,” Tundra said slowly.
The Captain raised an eyebrow. “Word gets around very quickly among the more superstitious of t
he people here. A few of my men think what you’re doing is dangerous, and many of the scientists think what you’ve said is laughable. I think we need to put you on rest until you start thinking correctly.”
Tundra scowled. “Whose authority are you doing this under?”
“My own. As Captain of the S.S.S. I have full authority to what I am doing. A few workers are scared of the idea of aliens existing. Tell them you were joking or something, and we’ll let you go.”
“Renounce something I know to be true? This is stupid! I know I’m right!” Tundra felt the S.S. Soldiers next to him tighten as they felt his anger. “Yes, it is stupid. You’re going a bit far with this Tundra, I suggest-”
The Captain was cut off as Tundra’s fist made contact with his jaw.
The Captain stumbled back, hand to his mouth. The surrounding S.S. Soldiers hesitated for a moment, shocked at Tundras sudden punch. Tundra turned, jabbing the soldier to his left, who dropped. The one on his right, managed to grab Tundras arms from behind him. Tundra yelled, kicking the man with his legs.
Tundra managed to trip him, and he fell on top of him, punching him, a wreck of fury.
The Captain had managed to stand and pull Tundra off the other Soldier, but Tundra turned, trying to land a punch. The Captain moved to the side and kneed him in the stomach.
Tundra doubled over, and he felt a booming pain as The Captain kicked him in the side.
Looking up through the hurt, Tundra saw with satisfaction that The S.S.S. Captain was bleeding from the mouth and nose. Unfortunately, he pulled out a taser and fired it at Tundra.
