by Tony Teora
“But the other, God, the dark force, the cold evil …” continued Janice. “It was almost a lifeless thing … it reminded me of a time when I was a kid and was sailing at night. My boat bumped into something—or actually, a lot of somethings. I was in shark-infested waters and sharks were bumping my small sail boat, trying to knock me out. The wind had stopped and I almost went overboard. Well, I got that same feeling when that thing was controlling me …”
“It was a worm,” said Kiya.
“Oh my God, a worm? Where is it?” asked Janice, shaking.
“It’s dead and long gone. You’re fine,” said Ace, not wanting to say, it’s being absorbed, in your neck, like food. Ace wished Kiya had kept the details to herself. “But continue. You said you got some kind of feeling?”
“Yes, I did,” said Janice, some skin color coming back. She seemed excited now. “Well, on that sailboat, I felt like I was surrounded by cold, merciless predators, things that didn’t really think but had millions of years of evolution, evolution that did not have emotions, but just calculated actions—actions that included turning me into their next meal. Well, I think there are people here who are just like those sharks. I also felt that the alien mind was the only one that actually cared. He knows what’s going on because he’s in their world. He can see and wants us to help him destroy these people.”
“Lady,” said Dr. Mitchell. “That alien you’re talking about had part of his brain removed, known by some in my field as a partial lobotomy. He’s got a modified helminth … ah jeez, I mean worm-like virus … but we removed what we believe is the genetic memory code structure … or at least, we think we put that part into remission. We were using a TeloPath device to try and control its actions—”
Janice cut in. “It didn’t work, did it, Doctor? The alien told me all about it. He said he’s got free will. When you changed the virus’s genetic structure, you also lost the ability to control the host.”
“Well, that’s true,” admitted Dr. Mitchell. “We were working on figuring out what we needed to change to bring back control but not the full virus …”
“The alien said that he can read the minds of the controlled human group, but that they’re sensing his self-control. He’ll eventually lose the connection and wants us to assist him in destroying them.”
Ace walked up to Dr. Mitchell. “Doc, if this alien doesn’t have the telepathic control organ thing—”
“It’s an angio-neuro telekinetic sensor,” said Dr. Mitchell, looking annoyed.
“Whatever. If he doesn’t have the angio-telekinetic device—what harm can this alien do to us? I mean, this base has already taken a dump. Maybe he can help us locate the sick scientists.”
“I doubt we or anyone can help them,” said Dr. Mitchell, with a shrug. “I think they’re too far gone. They need to be euthanized.”
“I was thinking the same thing, doc, but we also need to get rid of the EBE that’s running loose around here. We cannot let him or any of the crazies off this base. We have a Bio Containment situation now … but I also feel something about this alien. I believe he does have a link. I want to use him to find the others and figure out what they’re building, and then we’ll deal with the lobotomized alien when we’re done with him.”
“You’re not gonna kill the alien, are you, Ace?” asked Kiya.
“Not right away. I want to use him as bait. We still have one of his friends running around the base. I think we can use him to fish out the other. It’s called insurance. That other alien won’t do anything to us while we have his brother in tow.”
“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” said Dr. Mitchell.
“Pull our buddy out of the fish tank, Doc. I’ll cuff him and we’ll move on. I want to secure this base so that when help gets here, they’re not getting shot at by some crazies that have control of the defensive weapons and God-knows-what-else they’re building. Are we understood?”
Dr. Mitchell frowned. “You don’t know what we put this alien through. He’s not gonna like us.”
Ace laughed. “He’s not gonna like you. Let me worry about his attitude. Get him outta the tank.”
Dr. Mitchell solemnly walked over to the tank’s control panel, looking as enthusiastic as someone about to drop his pants and bend over for a prostate exam. He pushed various dials and then thought back to the time when he was young and in college, with people encouraging him, saying stuff like: “Steve Mitchell, you should study biology and genetic research … you can change the world, make money, and have fun.”
Dr. Mitchell now wanted to strangle the asshole college recruiter, Pete Chester, who worked for BOT. Pete had said, “Work for us and you’ll have a job for life, travel the universe, and make a difference!”
A job for life, thought Mitchell, glumly, while draining the alien’s tube of the oxygenated, bluish liquid. A job for life? What the fuck. Will I ever get back to Earth alive? That thought ran through his brain as he hit the button to remove the protective glass barrier between the alien and himself. As the glass barrier slowly slid down, Dr. Mitchell prayed that the alien didn’t hold a grudge. He had done some bad stuff to the alien, things he didn’t want to go back home to upstate New York and tell his mother about.
Gun control? We need bullet control! I think every bullet should cost five thousand dollars. Because if a bullet cost five thousand dollars, we wouldn't have any innocent bystanders. — Chris Rock
12
_________
Gun Slingers
Jimbo and Ivan cautiously scanned the West Section GEN-6 tunnel, looking for Tucker and the loose alien. None of the crazies were around, but there were all kinds of machinery noises in the air vents. Given the crazies were infected with a mind-altering virus, who the hell knew what they were up to? Both Jimbo and Ivan had their guns in their arms, ready to shoot at any moving enemy target. Both knew that at any moment, shit could hit the intake manifolds—and sure enough, as they carefully walked around a corner, a flash of light shot across the hall, hitting a metal beam only inches above their heads, barely missing Jimbo.
Jimbo quickly pulled back around the corner and grabbed Ivan in the process. Ivan resisted slightly, wanting to shoot back, but Jimbo didn’t want to take the risk. He pulled Ivan back to analyze the situation.
Sharp shooters needed to know when to breathe and when not to. They needed to know how to look at all the variables, adjust a scope, check the wind, and then take the shot. Ivan and Ace were quicker to act than Jimbo, which was good in some situations. But Jimbo naturally wanted to analyze the situation before unloading his firearm. As Big Jimbo pulled Ivan securely around the corner, he spoke quietly but quickly. “What the fuck was that? Did ya get a look at the shooter?”
“I think Yogi did. It’s the alien.”
Jimbo was getting tired of the Yogi smack talk. “Put your eyeballs on, I’m gonna check this out with the cam.” Jimbo put his video feed gun around the corner to inspect the situation. A visual signal got patched into both his and Ivan’s overhead eye displays. As Big Jimbo scanned, he saw a tall, Grey alien. The Grey was looking around, holding some type of mitten-like hand device. Has to be a gun, thought Jimbo. His actions seemed to mimic a scared deer, with predators circling. “Well, I think you’re right. We found our little Grey friend,” said Jimbo. “He’s behind an enclave near the south hatch,” added Ivan. “I was gonna shoot him when you grabbed me.”
“You saw him? He musta been waiting for us and hiding there,” said Jimbo, pulling out a flash grenade. “I’ll bet those large eyes will getta kick outta one of these.” He set a trigger and pulled back his hand to throw it around the corner when rounds of gunfire erupted like a Virgin Cinema popcorn maker cooking bullets. “What the fuck? What the hell’s he shooting at? Wonder if it’s Tucker?”
“He’s shooting at the others,” said Ivan. “Yogi told me there were crazies coming, too.”
Jimbo frowned and put his video gun cam around the corner. Sure enough, there were zombie-like
scientists exiting a door down the hall. They were wielding what looked like ten-inch steak knives. One looked like he was carrying a large hypodermic needle. They didn’t get more than five feet out the door before the Grey shot at them, one by one. All dead on the first shot. Looked like about five or six on the ground. He’s one hell of a shot, thought Jimbo. Wonder why how he missed us earlier?
Jimbo saw the alien run through the opened security door. “Our Grey shot some of the scientists. Hope they’re all crazies. Not sure what the fuck’s going on here. Let’s roll, Ivan.”
Jimbo and Ivan carefully walked into the hallway, guns pointing. Everything was motionless, nothing but bodies and splattered blood and brain matter. The brain matter looked like hamburger meat splashed against the walls. Jimbo walked up to a man with a beard and looked at the bullet hole. Right through the forehead. Jimbo checked another victim; same thing. All the shots were at exactly the same point in the head. This alien was a marksman.
Jimbo looked over at Ivan. “You plugged two of those Greys. How did you fuckin’ take them out? These guys shoot like the sim robo shot trainer. Never seen a human shoot like that. It’s perfect.”
Ivan smiled, showing a missing tooth. “The Greys ain’t human. They tried to trick me and Yogi with images, but I knew it was trick and just pretended to understand. Then Yogi said ‘shoot the flames’ and I shot flames … but they still moving, so I used the X43 and finished them with holes. Lots of holes.”
“I know Ivan, I saw the work. What I don’t understand is why this marksman didn’t take a shot at you. What happened back there with the third alien? Was he back there when you flamed the two, or were there only two aliens?”
“Only two, to start,” said Ivan. “He came after I shot two. He look at me and run.”
Jimbo rubbed sweat from his forehead. “Jesus Christ, Ivan, we’re gonna have to be real fuckin’ careful. Don’t stand around if he shoots at us again. He’s got both a laser and projectile weapon. Fuckin’ duck or move if he shoots either one of those weapons. That alien Grey can shoot a pea off your head at fuckin’ fifty yards.”
“I don’t have peas in my head,” said Ivan. “I have metal plate.” He tapped his skull.
“Are you kidding me? I said he could shoot a pea, a goddamn pea off of your fucking head. We gotta be real careful, especially with these nutcase scientists on the loose. This ain’t good. I’m callin’ Ace. Keep your eyes peeled, dammit.”
Jimbo was now sure that Ivan was nuttier than squirrel shit and it was getting on his nerves. But it was sure strange how “Yogi” could see things. Hell, there was no Yogi, it was a goddamn stuffed animal! This was all getting too weird. The Ace man should be able to help. Jimbo was thinking that the situation at hand required the team’s superman.
Big Jimbo hit his ear comm. “Ace, if you got your ears on, this is Jimbo. I gotta little situation I wanna talk about.”
Jimbo listened to static on the line. Again he tried: “Ace man, this is your good buddy Jimbo. I gotta situation, man. We need to talk.” Jimbo waited a few more seconds and heard a recorded woman’s voice: “Interference … no signal, please go to a clear location or check your equipment.”
Jimbo pulled out a slimline scanner from his pocket and looked at the readout. “Fuck! We’re being jammed.” He looked at an e-map and frowned. “Ivan—let’s follow the Grey. I gotta feeling Tucker’s been captured by those loony scientists, since there’s no way out up ahead. He’s gotta be that way. Plus, look here, according to the map, the Control Room’s that way. We need to shut off that fuckin’ jammer. Let’s go.”
Ivan patted Yogi, who was now taped to his side. Ivan smiled wide at Jimbo with glassy eyes of excitement. “Let’s go shoot peas off alien heads!”
***
Dr. Mitchell stood quietly in front of the glass fish tank holding the Grey EBE-C3 alien. The last thing he wanted to do was let it out. There were reasons Dr. Mitchell’s face seemed to have lost all its rusty bourbon color, the rusty color a middle-aged man gets from drinking too many bourbon shots after a hard day’s work. Or in Dr. Mitchell’s case, the Nazi-like work he was doing on behalf of Black Operations Technology, otherwise known as BOT.
He and his team had tested the Circinus virus on a local animal called an Ushi-ox. The virus quickly spread, eating the Ushi-ox as food for the thousands of phase two helminth maggot-like worms. The phase two helminths were studied so that the virus could be genetically modified to more efficiently infect more of the lean Ushi-ox animals. It took months, but Dr. Mitchell eventually produced an effective virus.
He tested that strain on about fifty Nomads, waiting to use it on the two EBE-C3 Greys once he was sure it worked as modified. And it worked—or so he thought. The alien genetic memory of the Circinus virus was removed, or actually, put into hibernation—like an encrypted computer file that required a decryption key. Dr. Mitchell recalled many cold, sweaty nights rehashing all that horrid testing: rotten bodies stinking up the facility, Nomads chained to their cells, screaming in pain, some crying and attempting suicide … it was tough work.
When things settled, BOT requested more testing, Nomad spider research. Research to make a spider controllable by the virus … but that entailed adding a Nomad spinal column and head. Getting that to work caused some dissent among the scientists; some quit the program. That’s when the bad dreams got worse and it became hard to sleep. The bourbon helped.
But the idea of freeing the lobotomized EBE-C3 alien … that concept sucked all the rusty color from Dr. Mitchell’s face. Dr. Mitchell had personally removed part of the alien’s brain, its telepathic organ, and then infected it with the helminth worm—and even under anesthesia, the alien seemed to know. It must have read his mind. Using the TeloPath, he and the team were able to control some of the alien’s actions, but there was always some kind of resistant communication coming back. One specific communication sent a chill down Mitchell’s own spine—the alien said telepathically that one day he would break free, and when he did, he would take the doctor back to his world for their own “testing” of him.
It was all some kind of reverse psychology shit, thought Mitchell. Plus, the military team here had guns, and there was no way he’d pay for what he’d done to some lobotomized alien. Would he? No way, it was surely the brainwaves of a now-crazy alien. Dr. Mitchell consoled himself with that thought and walked up to the control panel.
“So, Doc,” said Ace, holding his sidearm. “Can we hurry up and let out this alien? I’ll cuff him and haul him along for the ride. He’ll be great bait. Time’s a wasting.”
Dr. Mitchell took a deep breath and hit some dials on the control panel to further release the tempered Plexisteel glass surrounding the alien. As the glass slid down, the alien slowly came alive. He turned his head and looked straight—straight at Dr. Mitchell. The large, cold, black eyes wanted to use its angio-neuro telekinetic sensor to kill Dr. Mitchell, but that organ was removed in an earlier surgery. Dr. Mitchell felt the alien’s intent and his heart skipped a beat.
Dr. Mitchell wiped some cold sweat from his pale brow. “Listen, Mr. Archer, can you make sure you’ve got this alien covered? Now would be a good time to cuff him.” The doctor stopped the glass at halfway and kept the foot locks secure.
Kiya stood by, holding an M53 by her side. She had the gun pointed at the alien. “I sense no threatening action. On the contrary, I believe it really wants to communicate with us and assist us. That’s the telepathic impression I’m getting.”
“Does he have any dangerous thoughts about me?” asked Dr. Mitchell.
“Let me check … no, but I did get the feeling he wants to put you in a biological test tube on his home world when we’re done. But he did promise no harm until he’s finished assisting us.”
Dr. Mitchell gave Kiya a stern look. “You’re joking, right?”
Kiya smiled. “I think he’s joking.”
“Keep him covered … I’m lowering the Plexi barrier and removing the neural controller s
ignals. The foot clamps will be released shortly.”
Ace looked at the tall, thin, boney alien. He walked over and put military auto-adjusting cuffs on the wrists of four fingered hands. “Go ahead, I have him cuffed. You can let him out now,” said Ace.
The Plexisteel glass cover came down flush with the floor. The foot clamps released. A small amount of blue liquid ran into the drainage ducts. The alien still had a myriad of wires attached but stood straight and slowly turned his large head toward Kiya. While Kiya looked at the alien, Dr. Mitchell walked away from the control unit and toward the protection of a row of cabinets.
“Someone needs to pull the wires out of the alien’s head,” said Ace. The doctor was missing, so Ace grabbed a wire. The alien sensed what he was doing, and although cuffed, the double-jointed alien slowly assisted Ace in pulling wires out of his head. When they were finished, the Grey stood motionless like a wax dummy, ready to be moved.
Kiya looked at the alien, closed her eyes, and immersed herself in a telepathic thought transfer. Even without an angio-neuro telekinetic sensor, the alien had some weak telepathic abilities. She nodded in apparent understanding. Dr. Mitchell walked back from behind a cabinet, wielding a machine gun. He had it pointed at the alien. The alien turned and looked at the doctor.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” asked Ace. “We got him covered. And he’s cuffed.”
“I think having this alien around is a bad idea. I’ve changed my mind—I think we should put it out of its misery.”
Janice walked toward Dr. Mitchell, who now pointed the gun toward her. Dr. Mitchell’s hand nervously shook while he spoke. “Don’t come any closer. I don’t want to hurt any of you. I just don’t want to be around that EBE; it’s not safe.”
“Put down the gun, or we’re gonna have an issue,” said Ace, walking between Kiya and Dr. Mitchell.
