by Colin Weldon
There was no reaction from the comm pad.
“Internal communications are offline, sir,” said Kevin Ferrate from behind the captain.
“Injuries?” Barrington asked, “Everybody in one piece?”
He looked around at his bridge crew who all nodded indicating they were ok. They looked to him for next steps. He could only think of one. He looked at Ferrate.
“Kevin, you have the bridge,” he said.
Ferrate looked at him with dread in his eyes and nodded.
“Ripley, you have flight, if that beam lets up even for a second and we get the ship’s systems back up, you are under orders to activate the FTL and get the hell out of here,” he said looking at the young woman.
She looked scared but nodded at the captain with determination in her eyes.
“The rest of you follow me to the weapons locker and let’s greet our guests,” he said making his way to the rear of the bridge.
Boyett and Chavel followed suit as Ripley took the flight chair. She looked nervous, but there was nothing Barrington could do about that. The doors to the lift slid shut. Silence surrounded the group.
PRAXIS TRANSPORT SHIP
Tark’An made one final inspection of the attack fighters as they took up formation around the ship. There was a light clunking sound as his shuttle made contact with the outer hull. Shri’An was standing at the rear hatch of the craft looking through the porthole at the alien vessel’s sealed airlock. There were four others in full combat attire standing in a neat formation directly behind him. Tark’An remained at the rear of the group as per protocol. As the highest-ranking member of the boarding party, his protection was deemed the highest priority. He looked at his son as he folded his large muscular arms across each other. He was preparing for combat.
“Do not attack unless ordered to, is that understood?” Tark’An said from the rear of the craft.
The group turned their heads and nodded in unison. Shri’An frowned. Tark’An recognised the hunger for battle. He had once lusted for glory just as Shri’An did now. That fire had long since gone. It had vanished when his mate had been taken. The futility of it. The only purpose of death was death. Shri’An raised a hand scanner to the entrance of the airlock as the sounds of the docking clamps locking onto the hull vibrated through the shuttle.
“I am showing nine life forms at the airlock doors. They have particle weapons, General,” said Shri’An looking at his scanning device.
Tark’An thought about his options.
“Stand aside,” Tark’An said to his son.
“General?” Shri’An replied looking at him curiously.
“Obey me, stand aside,” Tark’An said suddenly moving between the group of soldiers, “I will go first, you will go second.”
“General, you are putting yourself in grave danger,” Shri’An said.
“I want to communicate with these beings, not destroy them … unless we have to,” Tark’An said standing next to his son, “Take your place.”
Shri’An began to tense up and stood his ground momentarily. He pulled his shoulders back, exposing his large chest, and tightened his mouth. Tark’An thought for a moment that he was about to defy him, but eventually his son took a step back behind his father. Shri’An then raised both sets of arms and drew the four swords strapped to his back from their sheaths. The sound of the four blades sliding from their coverings made the rest of the group follow suit. Two of them drew standard Drie’x class rifles from their shoulders and pressed them against their chests. The long shoulder length barrels of the guns looked formidable. The other two drew standard swords and adopted combat ready positions with the blades pointed parallel to their arms. Tark’An folded his arms.
“General, I highly recommend arming yourself,” said Shri’An.
“I think there are enough weapons drawn to get the job done, do you not?” Tark’An said smiling at his son. He knew that he would be well protected and had to admit that the presence of Shri’An by his side was somewhat comforting.
“Remember, do not attack unless provoked,” Tark’An said to the group.
They nodded in reciprocation and tensed their muscles. Tark’An activated the manual override of the alien ship’s airlock, feeding energy from their own ship to activate the hatch. There was a hissing sound as the pressure equalised and the outer hatch of his own ship slid apart. He looked at the circular door ahead of him and saw movement behind the glass. He took a breath, grateful it was the same oxygen-nitrogen atmospheric make-up of the Ruthenium home world, and activated their airlock. The alien vessel’s hatch rolled sideways revealing the creatures inside. They were small, only half the height, and build of his own people. Some had light pink skin, some had dark brown skin. They were clothed in what looked like a uniform. They stood in a small group, each of them with their weapons pointing directly at Tark’An’s head. The life form at the head of the group was standing tall. It had a hand-held weapon extended. Tark’An figured that was their leader. He could tell they were afraid. He could sense they knew that they were outmatched both physically and technologically. He heard the clink of Shri’An’s swords as they touched. The moment was tense. He held his ground and did not move. He could feel his son behind him eager to advance on the alien race, but Tark’An remained still. He considered the leader’s small eyes. They had not fired their weapons. He heard the leader say something. They had soft voices and while he couldn’t understand what they were saying, it sounded non-threatening. He unfolded his four large arms, watching as the aliens tensed up, gripping their weapons tightly. He extended them with his palms facing towards them to show the creatures that he was unarmed. The sight of his boarding party with blades and weapons drawn was probably enough to show that they were ready for a fight. The leader of the aliens slowly began to lower his weapon. He took a small step towards Tark’An. He stopped and looked up at him. He was breathing heavily. The alien bent down slowly and placed his weapon on the deck. One of the other aliens said something to him. It had longer hair and was slimmer than the leader. It’s body formation indicated to Tark’An that it was probably a female. The gesture was a powerful one. Tark’An frowned. He was not expecting this sort of reaction at all.
“Sheath your weapons,” Tark’An said to his son turning his head very slowly towards him.
Shri’An hesitated and looked towards the group of aliens. The female one said something else to their leader who was now staring directly into Tark’An’s eyes. There was a familiarity in their expressions. They had one set of arms, which would put them at a considerable disadvantage in any battle. Tark’An turned his body slowly towards his soldiers. They still had their weapons at the ready.
“Shri’An, sheath your weapons,” he said forcefully.
Shri’An and the others obeyed, slowly holstering their rifles and placing their swords away.
“Hand me a containment ring,” he said to one of the soldiers at the rear.
He responded by handing him the device. Tark’An activated the translation matrix and turned back to face the aliens. He pulled the ring apart slowly and demonstrated to the alien to put it around his neck by placing it around his own first. He unhooked it and extended his lower left arm with the device in his hand towards the lead alien. He did not move.
14
“What are you doing, Captain?” Boyett said keeping her weapon trained on the huge being standing next to what she could only assume was their leader.
She was sure that he was about to attack, but there was some sort of dialogue going on between within the group. They were massive. They looked like something out of an old horror movie. She was having difficulty thinking due to her heart pounding in her chest. Chavel was to her right and had his weapon trained on the lead four-armed thing that had just stepped onto their ship. Barrington had ordered them to stand fast and to not fire unless fired upon. She was tense. She could feel the palms
of her hands beginning to sweat and had to adjust her grip to stop the weapon from slipping from her grasp.
“No sudden movements, people, I don’t want to startle them,” Barrington said.
Boyett looked at his gun on the floor and wondered what his reaction time would be to pick it up when the aliens attacked. Too long, she thought.
“Now what?” said Chavel.
Boyett glared on at the aliens. They were nearly twice their height and could probably crush a human skull in one of their massive hands. The sight of the four swords had indicated to Boyett that they were absolutely no match for this race of beings. She watched as the lead extended his arm with the odd circular thing resting in the palm of its hand. He had just put the device around his own neck to demonstrate what to do with it and was now trying to hand it to the captain. Much to her horror, she realized that Barrington was about to put it on.
“Don’t do it, sir, it could be an explosive device or something,” Boyett said.
“I concur, sir, that’s a bad idea,” Chavel said.
Barrington slowly turned to Boyett and frowned.
“If my head gets blown off, you are free to open fire on them, but I think that if they wanted to, they would have killed us already, don’t you think?” Barrington said out of the corner of his mouth.
Boyett noticed the alien to the left of the leader, the one who was just a moment ago armed with four large swords, shift his body weight. He said something in a growling nonsensical tone to the leader. The leader said something in a growling voice back. Barrington took a step forward. Boyett took a breath and focused her attention back to her weapon. The alien next to the leader stared at her through large green eyes.
Make a move buddy, I fucking dare you, she thought to herself looking up at him.
***
Barrington looked up at his counter-part. He had activated his eye implant the moment the airlock door had slid back and the device was now feeding him all sorts of biometric data on the huge green alien standing in front of him. The virtual data readout protruding from the alien’s body indicated very little body heat. They were undoubtedly cold-blooded. They had a strange pulse rate coming from what looked like two separate sources, a second heart probably, and a dense skeletal structure surrounded by thick muscle. While their physical size was imposing, it looked like they had relatively thin spines. He wondered whether their lower backs could be targeted as a weakness if they were forced into hand to hand combat. The lead alien appeared to have an injury around his mid-section. The muscle density in that area seems weaker, it looked like scar tissue. Another weak spot if it came to it. The leader of the aliens looked different than the rest. For one, he was slightly taller than the others. He had a small scar on his rounded face and the braided hair tied neatly behind a bald recess was grey while the others were jet black. He saw Chavel shift this bodyweight slightly. The tension in the air felt palpable. He bit his lower lip and looked at the circular device that the alien was holding out in his large hands. It looked like a dog collar. Something an owner would hand a slave. All it was missing was a leash. The alien clearly wanted Barrington to place the device around his neck. Surrender was not something that Barrington would ever consider in a military situation unless his own life would mean saving the lives of his crew. Capitulating to becoming a slave to this race was absolutely, not in the cards, but there was something in the alien’s eyes that told him the device was not meant for that. He couldn’t fully explain it to himself, let alone to his crew, but perhaps in the few seconds of putting on the device, it would give Boyett an opportunity to get a good kill shot in. He took a breath and stepped towards the alien. He heard Boyett tense up.
“Captain?” she said out of the corner of her mouth.
“If this goes south, aim for his mid-section and lower back, everyone relax. Let’s take this nice and slow,” Barrington said taking another step towards the alien.
He placed his arms apart to make sure there was no hint of an aggressive movement. The alien remained still with his large arms extended outwards. All eyes were on the captain as he approached the lead. As he stepped closer, he had to crane his neck upwards. This thing could crush him just by stepping on his head.
Where the hell are you, Carrie? he thought to himself moving closer.
The soft yellow emergency lighting bounced off the alien’s head making it look black. Its large piercing eyes followed Barrington as he reached to within a foot of the alien’s hand. He stopped and looked up, his arms still outstretched showing no signs of aggression. The alien extended his arm again to Barrington. His pair of lower arms remained by his side. Barrington took a breath and slowly extended his hands taking the circular device from the alien. Their fingers glanced each other briefly as he did so. The alien’s skin felt cold. Clammy. Like a reptile. The device weighed almost nothing. He looked up at the alien who moved both his upper arms indicating to Barrington to put it around his neck. He took a breath and looked back at Boyett.
“Remember, if this blows my head off, you take it out. Mid-section,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
“I got him, sir,” Boyett said sounding seriously worried and tensing up her shoulders.
Barrington looked at the device.
“Here goes,” he whispered to himself.
He took the large ring and placed it over his head until it sat on his shoulder. In one quick snapping motion, it sealed tightly around his neck. It was such a sudden motion he took a step back. It nearly cut off his air supply. He grabbed his neck as he heard the clicks of his crew turning off the safeties on their weapons. He put his hands up directing them to stand by.
“Hold it,” he said catching his breath.
He was still alive and breathing normally. He looked at Boyett and shook his head. There was a light bleeping sound as a light came on under his neck. He looked up at the alien who took a step towards him. The creature growled at him. Then he heard a voice.
Can you understand me? came a growling voice in his head.
The sounds of the words did not match the lip movement of the alien, but it was clearly English. Barrington suddenly realised the device was a translator of some kind.
“Yes, I can,” Barrington spoke aloud.
“What?” said Boyett from behind him.
Barrington raised his left hand up indicating she be quiet.
Good, said the Alien, My name is General Tark’An. What are you and what are you doing here?
THE SIENNA CLARK
With a gasping breath, Doctor Tyrone Tyrell awoke screaming. The force of his sudden jolt sent him crashing into the back of the chamber. He collapsed to the ground and frantically began looking around the strange white room. Had he been dreaming? Had it all been a terrible nightmare? He had lived an eternity in the dark. Being chased by something terrifying. Something dark. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he pressed his hands up against the curved glass. It was bright. His eyes hurt. Strange flashes of memories that had not been his own surfaced to his mind. He had seen explosions in space. Vague memories of an alien. Someone called Jack. He held his chest and tried to calm his racing heart. A surge of panic and claustrophobia was making it hard to focus. Where was he? Was it really him? His hands were shaking. He took several deep breaths and looked at his clothing. He was in a jumpsuit that was not his own. The fabric felt strange. It was black and fastened shut at the collar.
“Hello?” he said as he looked out of his incarceration.
The brightly lit white walled room remained silent. The feeling of the skin on his hands as he touched his fingers felt strange. Like he had not felt them for years. He looked down at his legs and tried to move them. He tried to get to his feet, but like a new-born lamb, he struggled at first. It was like he was getting to know his muscles all over again. His body ached. He felt like vomiting. He couldn’t see straight. He began to get his heart rate under control and steadi
ed his legs. He rested his arms against the curved glass of the large tube he was in and peered out.
“Hello?” he shouted as he pounded his fists against the glass, “Let me out!”
The room remained silent.
“What is happening?” he quietly said to himself as he slumped to his knees again.
He arched his spine trying to stretch out a pain in his lower back. The tube was barely big enough to fit one person. He was about to scream out again when the wall directly ahead of him began to shimmer. It looked like it was turning translucent. There was the shape of a person on the other side. The figure stepped through and looked at Tyrell. He knew her.
“Carrie?” Tyrell said standing again and placing his hands on the glass.
Carrie walked over to Tyrell and placed her hand on the wall. There was a hissing noise as the glass tube began to rise from the floor. Tyrell remained still as Carrie looked at him. He hadn’t seen her for what seemed like months. Or was it only yesterday? He couldn’t be sure.
“Impressive,” Carrie said, “We had not expected you to survive. It pleases me to see you, Tyrell.”
Tyrell took a step towards her and looked at her. A sudden flash of memory came to the forefront of his mind. A broken container. A feeling of terror. Of suffocation.
The Black! he thought to himself.
He looked at Carrie who was calmly watching his eyes.
“What’s going on, Carrie?” Tyrell said.
She remained still.
“You fought well. The human mind is far stronger than your species knows. Tell me, Doctor. What do you recall from the last several months?” Carrie said.
Months? thought Tyrell.
This was not the Carrie Barrington that he had known. She was different.
“Where are we?” Tyrell replied looking over at the metallic tube attached to the far wall.
“You are on board an alien spacecraft. We are rendezvousing with The Agathon along with the remaining survivors of your race that were rescued,” Carrie replied.
