Earth vs Alien

by Ronald D Thompson

  An awkward pause − Omalius especially felt uncomfortable at the announcement for he recognised both of them immediately.

  ‘That will be all, Junipex,’ said Omalius. ‘Bring us food and drink for our guests.’ Omalius caught a glimpse of the square as residents eased towards the three craft for a closer look, a major event in Larquiston, which rarely saw conflict other than the ‘death bait’ games.

  ‘Please be seated,’ said Omalius.

  ‘We were hoping Annaluce might be accompanying you,’ said Elizan.

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if I knew where your sister was,’ replied Dane. ‘She has been accosted by Qudor Volkan. We were attacked, our ship crashed, Volkan wanted information. He wants the codes for the portal amplifier. I was rescued by Oosapeth, your sister was not,’ said Dane. There was no ceremony in his delivery.

  ‘So, what brings you here?’ asked Omalius. He could see genuine emotion in Elizan’s eyes, despite the front that she despised her older sister.

  ‘We need help.’

  Elizan suddenly perked up. ‘Zaagans helping Undarthians, that’s certainly new – how can we help?’

  ‘Squalors,’ replied Dane. ‘We have machines, dorkers to be precise, which afford us protection. We can go over the great wall. We need one of you to validate our cause with the squalors.’

  The silence in the room was deafening, but a new opportunity was opening up. Elizan’s tearful expression turned to one of delight. This was her chance to shine and Elizan was going to take it.

  ‘Things might be taking a turn for the better’, thought Omalius.

  CHAPTER 13

  ALIEN IMPOSTERS

  The Earth looked different. Senator Lace Adams was stunned. Were the co-ordinates Samuel entered correct? He expected nothing but wasteland. He could not believe the sight unravelling before him.

  The capsule opened upon instruction, just as Samuel had predicted it would. The location, previously known as Mexico City prior to the Great Alien Wars, re-named The Ancestral City, controlled by the Olympianas in 2218, should in theory be devoid of any form of intelligent life, other than a few propagators − or so the historical archive data sabotaged from the Olympianas’ database suggested.

  The senator’s immediate instinct was to hide. The question on Lace Adams’ lips was not whether Samuel had set the correct time co-ordinates, but whether Samuel had sent the senator back to the right planet.

  It vaguely looked like Earth; it was early evening, the sun still hot but cooler than the unforgiving daytime heat − a small blessing. The sky should have been empty of anything remotely alien advanced. Instead, a multitude of alien ships littered the atmosphere. It was a city of unrecognisable complexity and unfathomable intelligence.

  ‘What the hell have I done?’ asked the senator to himself.

  The capsule was just outside the alien city. Lace hid in some growth. His first thought was to disguise the only means of transport that guaranteed a safe return, whilst he calculated his next move. He had the means to destroy the city. What good would that do unless he could identify if this alien race was the super intelligence that propagated Earth?

  Lace Adams began walking. He estimated a couple of kilometres. With the time machine safely camouflaged in the small woodland area close to his landing position, he could only hope that his attire was not to be a giveaway.

  The countless spacecraft seemed busy, mainly around the city − at least that’s what Lace assumed. A few drone-like craft flew overhead; luckily the natural growth and woodlands kept Lace from danger. The city was strange − buildings didn’t look like buildings but more like temporary blocks, Lace estimated only ten to 15 metres high. They appeared liquefied like blocks of transparent jelly. No structure, bricks or steel frames, just liquid blocks. To Lace they seemed temporary, yet the super intelligence was glaringly obvious. Lace considered his approach. ‘Nothing to lose’, he thought. ‘It’s either to try to find a solution or suffer the might of the Council of the Light if I return empty-handed’. These days the council were unforgiving and ruthless with their punishment.

  Armed with the Z1845X bomb the size of a tennis ball, he confidently walked towards the myriad of liquefied blocks. The growth of trees was fascinating, untouched mother nature, long before the tyrannical human species’ effortlessness destroyed natural habitat. Lace was in awe; the same land bereft of such natural beauty in 2218. The drones hummed, almost as a fine-tuned orchestra, each with a slight deviance of frequency. ‘Who were these people?’ thought Lace. ‘This wasn’t in the archives, the ancestors were few according to the Olympianas folk legend, prior to their mass evacuation of Earth’.

  Getting closer now, the structures becoming more baffling, Lace wondered if this was a good idea. The cubes of liquid became transparent as Lace neared. Just as Lace first thought, cubes of liquid except for a vague outline of something within. ‘How is the water holding itself together?’ thought Lace. ‘What’s it harbouring inside?’ Whatever these contraptions which dominated the city, it wasn’t any of Lace’s business. Again, he questioned his better judgement. Even if he found the figurehead that the Olympianas worshipped from their time on Earth, how was he supposed to change the chain of events? He had instructed Samuel to enter the precise date from the ancient Olympiana calendar − the co-ordinates were precise but surely this was a far advanced civilisation to those who propagated Earth, who created the beings who evacuated. It just didn’t make any sense.

  A buzzing sound became louder; it could have been a swarm of bees. Lace was keeping himself hidden in the trees, free from obvious vision, or at least he thought that was the case. The sharp stab on the back of his neck was instant, the pain excruciating. As Lace fell, a slow motion action as if the stab were a tranquiliser pellet, the buzzing sound accentuated as the drone drew closer. Every sense in Lace’s body heightened; the smell of the fresh grass, the sound of what appeared to be an alien language muffled yet clear, clear in the fact that it wasn’t human, the sunlight in his eyes, brighter than our star itself. Lace lay motionless yet eerily awake, paralysed, caught in a trap, set by vastly superior beings, as helpless as a rat that might be victim to a crude cage set to entice a rodent of deficient intellect. They had seen him, they had caught him, the time machine lay hidden but of little use. As Lace became drowsy he wondered whether he had seen the last of the only piece of machinery that might guarantee a safe return back to the future, to 2218.

  ************************************

  Samuel lifted the shutters. The time machine carrying the senator had been transported. There was no evidence of an inferno. A thought occurred: ‘Three time machines have left the planet, only one with the permission from the Council of the Light and I, Samuel Parker, have authorised all three. If either the senator or Klade do not return triumphantly, not only will my position be in jeopardy but I will more than likely be fed to the Drayzaks’.

  It was late; he was the only one other than the guard at the entrance who remained. Samuel reduced the 3D image of Earth, an image of the planet 3.3 million years ago, a destination of barren land where all but a few propagators roamed, at least according to the archived files hacked from the Olympianas’ database.

  Senator Adams had connections and Samuel was always in awe of the information the senator could muster from nowhere – precisely why Samuel was a time capsule engineer and Lace Adams a senator; one was innovative and happy to serve, one devious and power-driven. Samuel respected the senator immensely but he now questioned why he had been persuaded to use the remaining time machine on what was, he was now convinced, a frivolous journey.

  In the morning, Dr Laderman and friends would return, fully expecting Senator Lace Adams to show.

  The lights in the time capsule transporting room dimmed, the 3D image evaporated and the date flickered on the dashboard in the adjoining room. Samuel stared − in an instant his concerns encompassed his every thought. He couldn’t say anything to his wife, Mira, he could only hope for a positive outc
ome. Samuel wasn’t a believer in a benevolent benefactor, a super intelligence upon which our very existence depends, but at that very moment he was willing to be convinced, if only in hope that his prayers would be answered.

  Samuel wished goodnight to the guard at the gate.

  ‘See you tomorrow, Jon,’ replied Samuel.

  ‘Working late, Sam? Everything okay?’ replied Jon. Little did he know.

  ‘Yeah, fine, Jon, you know how it is. There’s always a crisis to attend to,’ replied Samuel nonchalantly.

  The self-drive vehicle was there at the gate to meet him. Solar powered and completely automated, the door opened, DeLorean style, and Samuel sat in the seat. There was neither a driver nor passenger seat.

  ‘Home,’ instructed Samuel. The harness instantly encompassed his upper torso, the door closed and the vehicle sped silently and gracefully away from the Time Capsule Centre.

  ‘Music,’ demanded Samuel.

  ‘Your usual?’ asked the on-board computer.

  ‘Yes, Rachmaninoff’s Concerto in C minor.’

  ‘Adagio section, is it, Mr Parker?’

  ‘Do I need to ask?’

  As the music played, courtesy of the virtuoso pianist Arthur Rubinstein − the classics still very much in existence even in 2218 − Samuel relaxed. Tomorrow would hail him a hero with Dr Laderman or a villain with the Council of the Light, without a reprieve. For the second time against his beliefs, he prayed.

  ***********************************

  Senator Lace Adams focused on the liquid cube. A truly fascinating concept. Clearly water, controlled by an unknown force. The shape was cube, the water through it was as if it were supported by an invisible container; inside, Lace could make out creatures.

  He was trapped in a transparent cylinder of some kind – naked − of a material or a force field the likes of which he could not fathom. His cylinder was one of up to a hundred, each containing creatures, none of which resembled anything he had known in 2218. ‘What was this? This couldn’t be the propagators’, thought Lace. The archived files mentioned a few humanoid beings that were the originators of the Earth’s occupants 3.3 million years before Senator Adams.

  No one came to inspect Lace. The cylinder wasn’t solid, but clear blue and transparent, yet the cylinder top was open to the elements. Fear crept into his psyche as the senator considered his predicament.

  ‘Let me out of here!’ shouted Lace. The scream, at least, released some of his anguish.

  Lace held out a finger; the instant shock resembled what Lace could only imagine a lightning strike might feel. The flesh burned, the smell putrid. He kneeled and cried out in pain. He wouldn’t touch the cylinder side again in a hurry.

  His screams caused anguish amongst the other prisoners. At either side, ugly undesirable hybrid humanoids also screamed, one as the roar of a lion, the other as an orang-utan, in a fashion. Lace looked out through the transparent blue hue and a creature caught his eye, female, a human or so it appeared, also naked. A gesture he understood − an index finger to the mouth with a shake of the head − an indication to keep quiet. Lace instinctively covered his manhood. Bemused, he shrugged his shoulders as the female pointed to the sky.

  Lace was to find out in a painful manner, why she had signalled for quiet. For the moment though, the female captivated him.

  CHAPTER 14

  ALIEN SPACE STATION

  The ice cave was somewhat dormant in the absence of Dane Vhastek and the human contingent that had accompanied him to Larquiston in search of back-up – by way of an army of squalors. The mood sombre, the plan seemingly fragmented. Qudor had pulled a masterstroke by inflicting Drayzaks on the human population, acutely aware of their ability to disorient the population. To kill, maim and procreate meant he had the upper hand, at least temporarily.

  Oosapeth studied the war hologram. His ships were displaced all over the globe. The ice cave was no place to strategize – too remote, too limited. The battle was being won on the ground. To raise a sustained attack meant being exposed, picked off by Qudor who had established ground superiority.

  Time to use a portal amplifier.

  Serenix was otherwise detained. Busy canoodling with James, she was hardly the warrior Oosapeth required. He called her over, much to her dissatisfaction.

  ‘We have a portal amplifier. We need to stretch a portal near Earth,’ stated Oosapeth.

  ‘I don’t understand, Father,’ replied Serenix.

  Oosapeth pointed to a portal on the hologram image, the same portal used to bring the fleet to Earth. The portal was indicated in blue and the Earth, as a globe, sat seemingly unperturbed, perilously exposed, silent as if no wrong could come of it; too small on the hologram to distinguish the mayhem occurring, too miniscule to map the Drayzak dominance.

  Oosapeth turned towards his daughter and James had now joined them both. A look of eager anticipation was evident on James’ face, his strawberry blonde hair looked striking against the blue backdrop of the glistening ice wall. Serenix’s jet-black hair was equally as striking; the colour blend between them both was the exact opposite and yet perfectly harmonised.

  ‘We need a space station, far enough in Earth’s orbit to negotiate an attack but near enough to view the battle unfolding and to pick off targets on the ground,’ instructed Oosapeth.

  ‘I thought all our space stations were commissioned, Father?’

  ‘Most,’ replied Oosapeth. ‘Colony 7 is an option, though.’

  James understood the concept of a space station yet had no clue of the vast beast Oosapeth put forward – ‘Colony’ suggested a huge station and so he glanced at Serenix in the hope of a more explicit description.

  ‘But that’s our orbiting prison, Father. You intend to transport our undesirables? Wouldn’t we need to take control of security? There have been some bad reports, Father. This is ludicrous,’ said Serenix, now discarding her cloak of love in favour of her more normal demeanour, a warrior.

  ‘We have no choice, Serenix. I will need to clear this with the Security Council. This is a war and one we need to win. Qudor has one of our portal amplifiers; the damage he could inflict is unimaginable. With the colony of prisoners, we could infiltrate. Their choice is a prolonged life of misery, purposely extended to maximise their arduous sentences – a welcome opportunity to fight for their lives, a life on Earth, a fresh start,’ explained Oosapeth, whose temperament oozed confidence as he explored this unforeseen idea. Influenced clearly by the strategy of Dane Vhastek, Oosapeth had relented; a ground position was paramount to countering Qudor’s initiative.

  ‘I need you and James to remain. I will take three warriors back to Xenon. You will need to explain the plan to Dane if he returns before I complete my mission. If I have accomplished my mission before Dane then I will return to the ice cave to explain this latest development. You will hear from me upon my return.’

  Xenon had 12 colonies in orbit. Most were exploratory stations, observation points, some a source of gathering energy from their star and some to house undesirables. Colony 7 was dreaded. It housed the most dangerous citizens. It was a space station equivalent to the size of a small city, black and menacing. Its military function was useful in Oosapeth’s eyes, the cargo equally so.

  The black figures of Oosapeth accompanied by three of his trusted warriors marching swiftly towards the portal bay, spelling out loud and clear their intent. The shadows of the figures lengthened as they disappeared down the long, ice blue tunnel. The ship was chosen, the warriors entered and the hologram displayed Earth with an adjoining planet, Xenon. With a shudder of the craft, the noise resonating the echo likened to pistol fire in an amphitheatre, Oosapeth was gone.

  The next move in the war game of chess.

  The arrival was instant. Oosapeth treated the journey as a student might a taxi ride. Greeted as a warrior who commanded the utmost respect, the portal guard checked in this distinguished citizen and his three accompanying warriors.

  ‘An unplanned vi
sit, Oosapeth. We observed your emergency clearance request upon arrival,’ said the guard, ushering a team of operatives to vet the metabolism of Oosapeth and crew for any abnormalities.

  ‘Do we need to bother with clearance of this sort?’ asked Oosapeth.

  ‘Standard clearance procedure. You’d have my head if I let any Trollozyte return from another planet without a thorough check.’

  ‘Well, hurry up. When you’re finished, grab me a few dorkers and see to it that the Security Council are aware that I need urgent talks,’ said Oosapeth, clearly irritated by the inconvenience of the quarantine rules.

  The operatives stood by the 3D monitor, which replicated the four individuals in a holographic image; a variant of rays was blasted invisibly at the ship’s occupants. X-ray testing, biochemicals, known diseases, even psychological imbalances were among those tested instantly. The readings were clear for Oosapeth and two of his warriors, but one had an unknown virus.

  ‘Oosapeth, we have a problem,’ reported the guard.

  ‘I haven’t time for this,’ said Oosapeth, squaring up the guard. The three warriors stood bemused about a metre behind their commander-in-chief. The sun was strong, accentuating the sweat now appearing on Oosapeth’s brow and the frown clearly expressed dislike at this additional unnecessary delay. ‘What is the problem?’

  The guard moved towards the operatives, one of whom pointed to a reading on the small tablet. The hieroglyphics read – serious alert, quarantine immediately.

  ‘I’m afraid I am going to have to quarantine one of your operatives, Oosapeth. An anomaly has shown up on our reading.’

  ‘Anomaly?’ asked Oosapeth as he held up both palms looking to the sky. ‘What anomaly?’

  ‘A defect. You know the code – section 9182 subsection 23d states that a return from another planet indicating any signs of an alien virus–’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m aware of the code. So, one of us carries a virus?’ Oosapeth interrupted.