by Mark Wandrey
“We haven’t been able to figure out how to bring them back yet,” Osgood explained. “One theory is these devices are escape routes provided by the aliens.”
“Devices?” Ochsenhirt said, looking up from his papers, “Plural?”
“Yes,” Volant said. “My sources suggest there are at least nine others, possibly more.” Ochsenhirt glanced away from the camera, perhaps at someone out of view, and back again before speaking.
“If these devices are an escape, does that mean the aliens that delivered them have aimed this asteroid at us, on purpose?” Ochsenhirt asked pointedly.
“We don’t know that the asteroid was intentionally redirected,” Leo said.
“We don’t know that it wasn’t,” Ochsenhirt retorted. “This could merely be an elaborate ruse to get us to ship captives, hostages, even slaves to another world. This paper published by some astronomers, at the behest of a woman from SETI, details an observation of the asteroid being hit by something…”
“Yes,” Leo agreed. “That astronomer in the UK is the only one who witnessed the supposed event.”
“The president’s scientific advisors say the details of the asteroid changing course and the appearance of portals leading to a world which appears ideal for human life weren’t coincidences.”
“Except the thing that ate that scientist,” Volant pointed out. Ochsenhirt nodded and shrugged.
“Yes, except for that. The president’s people say we should prepare to send people through en masse.”
“We have to advise against that,” Leo said.
“I concur,” Osgood said right away.
“And what about the NSA?” Ochsenhirt asked.
“Same,” Volant said. “We need to give them more time to figure out how this portal works, to see if the other plan for dealing with this asteroid is successful, and to maybe even figure out where the other planet is.”
“What about the possibility of moving the portal to somewhere more advantageous?” the advisor asked.
“It’s a non-starter,” Osgood said. “It’s potentially dangerous to move it.” Ochsenhirt grunted at that, then sighed.
“Okay,” he said and took out a red folder. “POTUS has authorized the re-tasking of space-based assets per project Excalibur, including a pair of launches. This includes nuclear weapons release.” Osgood and Skinner looked surprised, but nodded. “I know you reported a low probability of success, but we’re going that way anyway. As for this portal, I’ll pass along your recommendation to POTUS that research continue. This includes giving you black funding to use at your discretion for the foreseeable future. Soon, all eyes will be watching space anyway. The press is already growing bored with the ‘cleanup’ in Central Park.” He reached for the camera. “Send daily reports through your chain of command, Agent Volant,” he ordered and cut the connection.
With the White House group gone, the others disconnected in quick order, leaving Osgood and Volant alone in front of a bank of black monitors. Osgood turned, looked at the agent and spoke.
“Your report left off the 144 indicators,” he said. “Why?”
“Orders,” Volant said and got up. “I’m not the one making the calls here. Keep getting answers as quickly as you can. We don’t want this spinning out of control.”
Osgood left the communication trailer and walked the short distance to his personal quarters, a small, luxury RV set up within view of the portal dome. Inside, he grabbed an ice-cold imported beer from the fridge, popped off the top, and took a long pull. As he felt the glow begin to spread, he wondered if there would be enough time to save what needed saving.
* * *
In the early evening hours in New York City, operations commenced in the portal dome once again. The scientists had devised a better way of communicating with the soldiers on the other side, but now they needed to deliver the device. That meant another traveler had to be sent through the portal.
The last nine soldiers assembled, all in full kit. Their senior NCO explained to Osgood that this was just in case. The guns were still making him nervous. As before, the team of technicians tasked with throwing through crates was standing by.
The lead stepped onto the dais and the portal sprang to life. LTC Wilson was standing on the other side, waiting. He looked muddy and tired, and he had blood on his uniform. A murmur of conversation passed through the portal dome.
“Quiet,” Osgood barked and looked as Wilson held up his tablet.
“Situation is delicate,” the screen said. “Very large predators, like dinosaurs. Very aggressive; no fear of humans.” Osgood sucked on his lower lip as he typed his reply.
“Noted. Can you maintain presence? We are still evaluating long term decisions.”
“Not without resupply,” the tablet displayed after Wilson typed on it. “Ammo high priority, as are bigger guns.”
The senior NCO stepped up behind Osgood. She was the only female on the team, and the name Simpson was velcroed to the front of her uniform under her sergeant rank tabs.
“I need to change the crates,” she said to the scientist. “They haven’t been weighed or anything.” He gestured to the colonel with his head. “Judging by the look of him, we’d better get this over quickly.”
“Do you know about what it weighs?” Osgood asked. She considered for a moment.
“Eighteen pounds unloaded, about half a pound per round. Add case, ammo, and associated items, and call it 150 pounds for two.”
“Can you get someone to carry it with their personal gear?” he asked skeptically.
“No problem,” she said.
“Five minutes,” Osgood said as she walked away. He could just detect her nod of acknowledgement. “Stand by with the communicator,” he ordered and then typed into the relay. “We’re sending over a soldier with another attempt at a communication device and your requested guns.” On the other side, the colonel nodded and walked away.
Exactly five minutes later, four soldiers approached the dais. Two were carrying long crates, another was quickly tying olive drab webbing, and the fourth was SGT Simpson. The soldier with the webbing had to be twice the size of SGT Simpson, and Osgood quickly picked him as the mule to carry the gear through. The man began fitting the webbing on Simpson, shocking Osgood.
“You’re carrying that through by yourself?” he asked incredulously.
“Are you volunteering instead?” she retorted. He blanched, and all four soldiers chuckled. The two men with the crates set them down on the dais as Simpson finished securing the straps on her shoulders. She added her huge pack, grunting slightly as she slung it. Then the big guy handed her a rifle that she also slung. “I graduated from Ranger school, Dr. Osgood. Believe me when I say I’ve lifted more.”
“Ready, Sergeant?” the soldier asked. She gave a thumbs up and ascended the dais. The portal was now active, and the four soldiers already there were observing from the other side. All of them had rifles in their arms and looked away every few moments to scan the vicinity.
Simpson stood between the two crates and then knelt. The men on either side took straps dangling from her harness and clipped them to the cases.
“Ranger up,” they both said and slapped her shoulder.
“Hoo-rah,” she said. With a roar she stood, taking the crates with her.
“Damn,” Osgood hissed. She stood for a moment, carefully shifting to get the measure of the load.
“Let’s do this,” she huffed at Osgood.
Osgood glanced over his shoulder to where a pair of technicians were checking a new apparatus. It looked like a Hollywood prop—a cross between a laser gun and a miniature satellite TV dish. They both nodded.
“Go,” Osgood said.
She took two shuffling steps forward, then with another roar she stepped up and through. The portal flashed its familiar blue and thrummed as another light went out.
On the other side, the four men were waiting and caught SGT Simpson before she could tumble face first off the dais. Relieved o
f the cases, she cleared the way as the soldiers on the other side began throwing through crates.
A minute later one of them picked up a small case, striped with yellow tape, and threw it. It bounced and landed on the floor, still on Earth. Osgood nodded and made some notes in his book. Exactly 250 kilograms had once again gone through the portal after the soldier. Even though Simpson had carried a more weight with her, it had made no difference. A moment later the portal disappeared.
* * *
On the other side of the portal, SGT Simpson sniffed the air curiously, trying to identify the smells coming from the primordial woods. They were strangely familiar. Pine and…
“We think its cinnamon,” LTC Wilson said. She glanced at him. “Saw you sniffing the air. Pine and cinnamon is what it reminds me of.”
“Sir,” she said and came to attention. “SGT Lisa Simpson reporting.”
“LTC Wilson,” he said, casually returning the salute. “At ease with the formality. We’re a long way from the PX, Sergeant.” Lisa nodded. “Lisa Simpson, bet you caught it for that name.”
“You have no idea,” she chuckled and sniffed the air again. “Pine and cinnamon, makes sense, sir. But isn’t cinnamon a tropical plant?”
“Beats the hell out of me.” To the side, two of the men were opening the long crates and whooping with joy. A distant, throaty, prolonged roar broke the relative quiet.
“Holy fuck,” Simpson gasped. “Is that the dinosaur?”
“Yep,” Wilson said, “annoying neighbors. That would be the third one. We’ve killed two so far.”
“And that’s why you needed those?” she asked and pointed to the soldiers preparing the big rifles.
“Yes,” he said and nodded his head. “First one took almost 100 rounds to put down, second one 60. We took more care in shot placement.” She gave a low whistle. “They’re tough fuckers.” The roar came again, obviously quite closer. Simpson unslung her M4 and did a press check on the carbine. “Load the penetrators,” he ordered; “they appear to work better.
“Yes sir,” she said and popped the magazine out. She found a 30-round with green tape in her vest and slapped it in place, racked the charging handle, and caught the ejected round. She dropped that in a pocket, turned on her optics and was ready.
“How you coming on that?” he asked the man with the heavy gun.
“Almost there, Colonel.”
“Shit,” he grumbled and stuck in hearing protection. “Better get ready,” he told Simpson. She let her gun hang on its sling and fit her own protection. The roar came again, seemingly on top of them.
“How big is it?” she asked, shouting slightly.
“You’ll know in less than a minute,” he said and raised his gun. “Here it comes!”
Simpson looked up and saw massive fern trees toppling and felt the thudding of heavy feet through the soles of her boots.
“Jesus Christ,” she hissed and flipped the gun from safe to fire. Dirt flew in the air and the ground shook again. She swallowed and flipped the selector to three-round bursts as the creature tore through the tree line.
The colonel hadn’t been exaggerating; it was huge. It was at least 20 feet from its lizard-like snout to its rather stubby tail. Its mouth was open, revealing multiple rows of inch-long serrated teeth, much like those of a shark. She had an instant to marvel at the fact that it appeared to have more than two eyes under thick horny ridges before LTC Wilson and the other unoccupied soldier opened fire.
She cursed herself for her hesitation and fired as well. She raked the thing with burst after burst, seemingly with no effect. It stopped and moved back and forth, the head seeming to have little mobility. It had six legs! I’m on an alien planet, she realized for the first time.
“Aim for the head!” Wilson roared as he dropped a spent mag and grabbed another. The animal gave a chopped roar and rushed the other soldier who was trying to place clean shots into its eyes. The man cursed and dove to the side. The beast flexed and snapped at him, just missing his foot.
As it turned its side to her, Simpson confirmed it had two eyes on each side. She aimed carefully and put a burst into the ones facing her. One of the eyes pulped in an explosion of goo.
“Yes!” she cheered. It spun on her in an instant and charged.
“Move Sergeant!” Wilson ordered and fired with his reloaded gun. The creature’s flanks and head were riddled with holes, all pouring surprisingly red blood, but it showed no signs of slowing. Simpson emptied her first magazine and hot swapped for another as it raced toward her. She tried to hurry but she knew she couldn’t load in time. The monster pounced. “Boom!”
The top and side of the thing’s head exploded in a shower of blood and gore. It shook itself and did a kind of sideways shuffle, turning at the same time. Then its other eyes found Simpson and it steadied.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” She screamed as it took a step toward her.
“Put it down, Corporal!” Wilson ordered.
“Just fucking die,” the gunner said and pulled the trigger. Another .50 caliber round exploded from the Barrett rifle. The impact nearly severed the creature’s head from the rest of its body. It dropped to the ground and jerked spasmodically. “Another sir?”
“No,” Wilson replied; “that did the trick.” Simpson stepped closer to the head in amazement. “Stay back Sergeant,” he cautioned. Just then the huge mouth opened and snapped closed. “They don’t seem to know when they’re dead.” He stepped up to the side, sighted his rifle roughly between the eyes, backed up a bit, and put two 3-round bursts into the skull. The head shuddered and lay still. “Welcome to Ft. Eden. Now, you’ve met the serpent.”
* * *
As planned, an hour passed before they activated the portal again. Osgood immediately saw the duplicate of the device on his side set up on the other side. Technicians aligned the devices, and a second later gave a thumbs up. Wilson appeared behind the one on the other side and picked up a handset connected to it.
“Hello?” came the man’s voice over the speakers in the dome, sounding as if he were standing right there instead of halfway across the galaxy. A little cheer went up among the laser team that had designed the transceiver.
“Reading you loud and clear,” Osgood said into his headset. Simpson was there, looking a little ashen, with blood on her hands up to the elbows. “Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Fine now,” Wilson said and held up a spent .50 caliber casing, “just had to deal with the noisy neighbors.” Osgood could see a couple of men starting a bonfire while another stood watch with the biggest, longest rifle he’d ever seen in his life. “The hardware was a big help.”
“Glad to hear it. Now that we have communications, can you begin transmitting the accumulated memory of the instruments we’ve sent?”
“You got it,” Wilson said and hit the button on the tablet that controlled his end of the link. “I’ve also got this,” he said and held up an SD card. He popped it into the tablet and Osgood instantly saw the files on his side. “Thought you might want to meet the neighbors.”
“Oh my goodness,” Osgood said as he examined the images. Several stills of the recently killed monster and a brief movie of the kill itself, thanks to a GoPro a soldier had set up on a tripod. “I think I understand the big guns now.” Wilson nodded his head. “Can we send you anything else?”
“Can a tank go through that thing?” The speakers in the dome resounded as a roar transmitted through the laser link. “And maybe an electric fence or something.”
Mark Volant, who’d watched everything, turned and left as the portal shut off. An agent inside the dome copied all the data into Volant’s personal computer. He needed to send a report to his boss.
* * *
Many people were up the evening of the 21st watching late-night television. Unlike the usual cable programming, which was mainly movies everyone had seen a dozen times or documentaries full of questionable assertions, late-night network programming offere
d some variety.
Dr. George Osgood was in his trailer, perched on a stool in front of a half dozen LCD monitors correlating data from the alien world. He had received gigabytes of sensor data and images via the successful laser transceiver. Luckily, those communications didn’t need a transition to work, just someone to step up on the dais every 10 minutes.
A few miles away, Victor sat in the quiet inner sanctum of his new church. Everyone else slept while he contemplated his readings of the Bible and practiced a new skill, meditation. The late-night show played in the background, and he listened subconsciously.
Further east, Billy Harper flopped on his faded couch, and, two cans into a six-pack, hoped sleep would overtake him soon. The half-eaten pizza next to him was now the same temperature as the body he’d accidentally come across that afternoon while investigating a strong-arm robbery.
Two thousand miles away in Seattle, Mindy Patoy was in the little apartment included in her SETI per diem. It was nine p.m., and she’d just finished a day of chewing data for SETI and was now abusing her unlimited computer access. She knew it would upset Harold if he found out she’d taken down two of the four redundant processors for her own personal project. Then again, she figured since she’d helped pay for them, fair was fair.
The computers were working over the digital images that kept coming in from Dr. Skinner. Pictures of an alien sky! After living her whole life dreaming of detecting life on other worlds, she could now see it. The problem was, she had scant information for finding out where that world was.
“It’s all familiar in one way or another,” she said to the empty studio. “There’s got to be a key somewhere.” She’d looked at a picture of the sky and thought she recognized something. Using that, she would then compare her finding to an Earthly star chart and…nothing. It was incredibly frustrating. “If I could just go there and look at the sky…”
It was her frustration that led her to start ‘stealing’ computer time. She used that time to assemble the entire night sky of the other world, one picture at a time.
