by David Lund
“Yes, but let’s try to kill as few people as we can,” Michael said.
“Agreed.”
Kareen said they were going to practise with the lower setting so there weren’t any accidents.
Near the door, there was a panel where he pressed a few keys. Shadows of figures suddenly appeared at the far end of the room, darting from left to right, ducking down and weaving, as if avoiding shots.
“These are your enemy, you must hit the maximum of targets.” He demonstrated firing repeatedly at the shadowy figures, who disappeared when hit, until they were all gone. He was an excellent shot, and it only took him about thirty seconds to clear the five targets.
“Remember, there is a two second recharge time between shots. It’s important you remember this.”
So, they all took guns and practised. Caitlin, unsurprisingly, did almost as well as Kareen, taking only thirty five seconds to clear the targets. Jal was also quick, only a few seconds behind. Michael was quite pleased with himself too, but Jean, Lindsey and Franck, who were never military, did not do well. The other three left them too it as they practised some more, and went back to the shuttle bay.
The crafts they were to use hadn’t suffered any outside transformation, as the modifications were made within the main computer. Michael entered the vessel and crouched beside Grolreen and Videem; even for the human, who was much smaller than the Henfor, the space was cramped.
The two Henfor were talking in their language, as they had been alone, they had not used a translating device, but when Michael entered, Videem flipped his translator open.
“- and this will turn the device on,” Grolreen was saying.
Michael got a crash course on the navigation systems, and even though he couldn’t understand the language, he found it rather simple to work. The sensors were extremely sophisticated and detailed. As he looked at the screen, he could see the movements of many ship entering and existing the station. They all had designations written on them and you could ‘click’ on any ship and check it’s flight plan and it’s mission.
“If the Friiist have this technology, they will know straight away we are not who we say we are,” he
said to Videem, concerned.
“Yes, but we are going to follow the proper fight plan. We are being disguised as a science vessel, one who always has the same flight plan, and luckily for us, it’s one that goes very near to the planet’s surface as it picks up elements from the atmosphere.”
“But what about the real science vessel?”
“Ah, well, we’re hoping they’ll think it’s a glitch in their sensors.”
“That’s a bit risky, isn’t it?”
“No, it happens all the time.” He slapped Michael on the back. “Don’t worry, Michael. We will succeed.”
The Henfor were very flippant and seemed to leave a lot to chance, and Michael hoped this wouldn’t cause their downfall. In his mind, the Friiist were a lot more organized. He remembered how easily they had been captured from the Henfor ship. Videem was still looking at him, and Michael nodded, far from reassured.
*
In an outpost near the border, Bonyal and Frayal were sitting at their desks laughing over a story Bonyal had just told. The two had worked together for several years surveying the sensor net for any anomalies and got on well.
The outpost was a small space station about the size of a house, in which was a large room with monitoring equipment, a bathroom and two bedrooms. It had been built fifty years ago, but the equipment inside was brand new, and updated with the latest software and technology.
There wasn’t much to do in the outpost, but if anything odd crept up, the computer alerted the crew with an alarm. Apart from that, it was considered to be a cushy job. Bonyal and Frayal both thought so, it meant they had plenty of time to joke around and talk about the females.
They were both about the same age, forty years, still quite young for a Friiist, but still old enough that they would normally have families by now. And yet, neither of them did. They spent a lot of their time at their posts; it was perhaps an easy job, but the hours were long and it left very little free time.
Every now and then, the alarm on the computer would beep and they would have something to do. There were procedures they were supposed to follow in this case. First of all, they were to see what had caused the alarm to set off. It usually beeped if a ship came within a thousand kilometres of the net, but sometimes it was set off by a small comet or other debris floating through space. The problem was that since the war had started, there was quite a bit of debris floating around and it often triggered the alarm, so they had to sort through what was a real situation and what wasn’t. If it
was debris, they would call in Central and tell them it was a false alarm. If it was a ship, they were to warn Central straight away and give them the designation of the offending vessel.
If a Henfor ship came too close to the sensor net, it was sent a transmission telling them to back off or it would be fired upon, and the same thing applied to their own ships, as per order from Central. This hardly ever happened however, unless it had been pre arranged by both governments.
The incident with the escaping Humans on the Henfor ship had not happened in their sector, but they knew about it, and every outpost had been placed on high alert since the episode. Any abnormal activity: debris, ships, power failure or anything else, was to be immediately reported and checked.
Frayal was still laughing as Bonyal did a routine scan of every ship’s activity.
“Come on, it’s not that funny,” he said, although he was smiling. It took a while for Frayal to calm down enough to answer.
“I can’t believe he took the bait, Halyal is an idiot.” He laughed again and Bonyal laughed with him.
Suddenly the alarm sounded and both stopped laughing.
“It’s a Henfor vessel,” Bonyal said as he scanned his screen. “It’s within eight hundred kilometres of the net, and it’s approaching fast! Call it in, I’ll talk to the them.”
While Frayal called Central to report this unusual activity, Bonyal used the standard hailing frequency to contact the approaching Henfor vessel.
“Henfor vessel, this is outpost 00219 of Friiist” he said using the translation device. “You are too close to the sensor net, as per the agreement of -”
“Friiist outpost,” a terrified voice responded. “We have suffered severe damage due to an unknown source! Our ship is out of control and destruction is imminent, we are getting ready to evacu-” The line cut out and the ship on his screen suddenly exploded in a ball of light.
“That ship was less than three hundred kilometres from us when it exploded. Brace for shock wave!” Bonyal screamed at his friend.
Five seconds later, the outpost, a poor unshielded box hanging in the middle of space, was hit by the shock wave, and the outer bulkheads were ripped to shreds. Luckily for the two Friiist inside, the inner bulkheads held, and they were not hurt, aside from a few scary moments where they were violently shaken in their seats. The lights went out and all of the computers switched off, as the main antenna and generator was smashed in the blast.
The back up system would come on soon, as it was in the centre of the outpost and undamaged, but during those few seconds, they knew nothing of what was going on, and in any case, the antenna had been smashed, so even when the power came back on, they would have no sensors, and no communication.
During this time, two small Henfor crafts, now disguised as Friiist science vessels, slipped past
the sensor net, very near the damaged outpost, unnoticed by anyone.
20
Back on Earth, far from the action between the Friiist and Henfor worlds, James Henderson was walking through a hallway, on the bottom floor of the RAPAET building alongside John. He was still trying to understand everything that was going on. Everything John had told him was incredible, and unbelievable. He didn’t believe it, at least that was what he told John, but deep inside, if he was
completely honest with himself, he did believe. It was just too elaborate to be a lie.
On top of that, John said he was leading him to a real alien they had captured years ago and kept in this building. He couldn’t wait to see that. However, he still had some questions, which he wasted no time in asking his kidnapper.
“Okay, so you say we’re going to see an alien?”
“That’s right.” John was remarkably calm for someone heading towards an alien’s chamber.
“Is it alive?”
“No, it died when we captured it.”
“What were the circumstances?”
John sighed.
“These are deep questions, James.”
“Well, you’ve given me deep thoughts, John.”
John said nothing to this but kept walking in silence. James gave him a few moments before speaking again.
“You want me to trust you, and yet you tell me nothing; how can I trust you?”
“It’s not really a question of trust, James, but I think you are being hard on me, I have let you in on quite an important secret.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. So answer me this. Why me?”
“Because you are the head of the space program,” he answered as if this was obvious. He stopped in front of a door, and James, who had been about to speak, looked at the inscription written on the metal: Laboratory Ice Picks.
“Ice picks?”
“You’ll see.” He pushed the door open and they entered into a small, windowless room, with several metal lockers along the walls. Opposite them were sliding glass doors, but the glass was fogged so you couldn’t see on the other side. John started pulling off his suit and told James to do the same, explaining that they had to wear protective clothing.
Once they were both in their underwear, James feeling rather self conscious as his middle aged gut stuck out like a pregnant belly next to John’s firm abs; he obviously worked out, and was in good shape for a man his age; they proceeded to the next room.
After pushing a few buttons on a small panel near the glass doors, they slid open to let them through. This time, they entered another small, white, windowless room, which felt extremely clean. The smell of bleach hung strongly in the air. On the far wall were heavy shutter metal doors.
“Close your eyes,” John said squeezing his own tight shut. “I’m afraid this is going to sting a bit.”
Before James could ask, he was blasted by something that came from the ceiling. It was some kind of liquid that seemed to enter every pore of his body, burning his skin. Luckily, even with the late warning, he had closed his eyes in time, and none of the liquid had come into contact with them, for he was sure it would have burned them clear off. The punishment lasted about twenty seconds, although it felt like much longer to James. After only a few seconds, he had begun screaming and only stopped after the liquid had stopped falling from the ceiling. Strangely enough, almost as soon as it had stopped, the burning vanished, and he felt fine.
“What the hell?” he gasped.
“Yes, it tickles a bit, doesn’t it?” John seemed rather amused by James’ reaction. The latter told John to do something that he wouldn’t have said in one of the press conferences he had attended recently.
John laughed and pulled out a white, anti bacterial suit from a nearby drawer and threw it to James.
“It stings but it does a good job, it kills every single bacteria on your skin. Don’t worry,” he said as James looked shocked, “They soon come back, but it’s important that no bacteria enters that room.”
He nodded to the metal doors.
Once they had donned the suits, James pressed another series of buttons on a new panel and the heavy metal doors slid open. James, wearing the bulky suit, could make out a large room with many people in it, all of them wearing the suits. He followed John inside.
The walls in here were white too, and once again, there were no windows. All around the room were several machines and instruments of the likes James had never seen. He was reminded of a summer when he was a kid, where, after falling down a bank and cracking his head open on a rock, he had spent two weeks in hospital; the smell was the same. He counted ten men walking here and there, carrying clipboards or hand held pads, apparently taking notes.
The most interesting thing was in the middle of the room. A large, see through, plastic box stood there, towering over everything else. Inside was the most amazing creature James had ever seen.
The alien was at least eight feet very tall; its skin was pale blue, and had some sort of scales along the torso. Long, wild green hair fell down to its shoulders. Its red eyes were propped open, and James noticed that they were devoid of eyelids. Just behind its ears, were a set of gills and, looking down, he saw that its long feet were webbed.
“Oh my God.” He stepped forwards. “It’s a merman,” he whispered. John chuckled at his words.
James couldn’t take his eyes off the creature in front of him.
“Do you believe me now?”
“What do you know about it?”
John beckoned for one of the suited people to approach.
“This is Rachel, she can tell you everything we know about it.”
A women in her thirties smiled at James.
“So what do you think of our specimen, Mr Henderson?”
“You know who I am?”
“Oh, yes, we were all expecting you. And come on, you’re quite famous.” James had never considered himself as famous before, but with all the television he had done lately, he supposed people must be getting used to seeing his face. As he didn’t know how to answer her statement, he asked what she could tell him about the creature. After a glance in John’s direction and a nod of approval, she spoke.
“Well, we have managed to figure out quite a bit about Mr Ice Pick here. That’s our little name for him. Because he likes the cold, see? Well I don’t suppose he likes anything any more, seeing as he’s dead and all.” She laughed sharply, a barking laugh that took James by surprise.
“Sorry,” she cleared her throat. “Its DNA structure is similar to our own, but also radically different.
Its body is designed to live in sub-zero temperatures, probably near the minus ten mark on average.
It has sweat glands like we do, but not nearly as many. It would not do well in a warm environment.
“It has a very slow heartbeat: thirty beats a minute and probably has excellent endurance. Did you notice the gills on the side of its head? Its amphibian, and probably spends its time between snow covered land and underwater. I should imagine its planet is very cold.
“Is it capable of language? What about its intelligence?”
“It is an intelligent species, there is no doubt about that. They would have a language yes. Surely you were told about -,” she looked at John, “I mean, he must have told you about the – ah…”
“Yes, he told me about the message.”
“Oh, great! So yes, they are capable of language, this is also proven by the shape of their mouths and the way their tongue moves. They should be able to talk like we can.”
“How did this one die?”
“Massive cerebral damage.” She looked at John again, who spoke.
“I’m afraid the circumstances surrounding its death are confidential at this time.”
“Of course they are,” James answered, slightly annoyed. “You keep saying it, doesn’t this thing have a gender?”
“It’s a male,” Rachel answered.
He turned to John.
“So come on John, what’s all this about? You bring me here, and show me your prize. Why?”
“Because I need your help, and, it’s in your best interest.”
“Oh really? How so?”
“Because we’re going to save your crew. We’re going to save the Interstellar.”
21
He was cold, but then he was always cold. His cell was as dirty as ever: there was filth along the cold stone floor, and the walls were full of sli
me which creatures nested in. Sometimes they crawled over him while he slept, waking him with a terrified scream. Icy water trickled from the ceiling, falling down onto his frozen limbs in the middle of the night. He had never gotten used to it. He never would.
His cell was his home. It was not cosy, and the bed was just a hard piece of metal with a thin blanket covering it. He had no idea how long he had been in here; there were no clocks, no sunlight, no way of marking the passage of time. The cold was eternally with him, so much that he couldn’t even remember what it was like to feel warm.
They had been interested in him at the beginning. They had prodded him with unknown instruments, taken blood samples, asked him questions. And although it had been torture, he had been held in a clean room, that had been set at the right temperature for him. He believed he would have preferred to be back on the instrument table in the warm, being examined and punched, rather than to be sitting here, in this hell hole.
Nothing ever happened. Everyday, it was the same routine. He woke up, cold, wet and hungry, and did nothing but stare at the stone walls and think. He had a visitor come twice a day to bring him a meal. That was one of the good things, and there were so few, his meal was generous and generally very nice. His visitor never spoke to him, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to understand him anyway.
So he ate the food, taking as long as he could. He had no idea what he was eating, but even the most disgusting looking food still tasted good. He kept it going for as long as he could because it was his only distraction of the day. When there was nothing left, he would go back to staring at the walls.
He had thought about ending it: diving head first onto the stone floor might kill him, but then again it might not. He had no other way of taking his own life, but he didn’t really believe he could commit suicide anyway. He had hoped, many years ago, that they would do it after they had finished with him. He still didn’t know why they kept him alive. He was no help to them. They had done their experiments, taken his blood and done all sorts of other nasty things to him; so why did they keep him alive? He did not know.
