Earth vs Alien

by Ronald D Thompson

  The first door opened and Qudor swept through with no time to lose. The circular cutting in the floor ensured that Qudor was lowered to the torture chamber below the flight deck. A key element to his success in battle was to extract valuable information from a prisoner.

  The Drayzaks were restless. The victim shook agonisingly in the same fashion as his last victim, Daxzus, had waited nervously. Two guards stood to attention outside the chamber, petrified. Either could be in the torture chamber at a moment’s notice, joining the victim and adding to Qudor’s entertainment. Qudor raised his hand several millimetres from the door; retina recognition completed the security check. The dark grey, heavy-duty door parted, revealing the horror on the other side.

  The victim lay broken on the floor, hands above head, riveted to the wall by heavy-duty shackles. The Drayzaks immediately reacted to Qudor’s entrance, also shackled, sufficient enough not to reach Qudor or the victim, at least for the moment.

  Annaluce lay at the mercy of this monster.

  ‘Oh! What to do, what to do?’ asked Qudor. ‘I suspect your lover will have forgotten all about you by now,’ with evident sarcasm in his voice.

  A weary Annaluce raised her head, almost unable to speak. Shouting endlessly for help had taken its toll. ‘He will be back to rescue me,’ threatened Annaluce. ‘When he does your Drayzak pets won’t be able to help you.’

  ‘Why would he come to rescue you, Annaluce? He thinks you’re dead. You see, just like you, we planted a receptor in his brain. Pretty easy following the crash when you were both unconscious. We have been listening to all his communications. As we speak, he is on Zarduzian − Larquiston, to be precise. We had some wonderful times in your city, Annaluce, do you remember?’

  Annaluce was repulsed at the thought, more worried that her beloved thought she was actually dead. ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Annaluce desperately.

  ‘We were lucky; one of our warrior’s wives had your size and build. We checked you for any obvious markings, although if my memory serves me right you have no distinguishable markings naked.’

  Annaluce grimaced at the remark, turning away from her captor. The torture chamber door opened and a guard handed something to Qudor. Annaluce couldn’t make out the package as Qudor’s back disguised the item.

  Qudor turned slowly as the door shut behind and held up a severed head. ‘This is the head of your lookalike, Annaluce. We burnt the body − can’t be too careful − Dane may have realised it wasn’t you but a burnt carcass and nothing to distinguish that it wasn’t you. Far more convincing.’

  Tears ran down her dishevelled face, the will to live draining from every pore in her skin. There was no argument left in Annaluce, for she was broken.

  ‘Oh! What to do, what to do?’ repeated Qudor. ‘You might be pleased to know that I do not intend to kill you today, Annaluce. I still have a use for you, for the moment anyway.’ Qudor knocked on the door to alert the guards waiting outside.

  Annaluce looked up, the tears blurring her vision. Two guards were heading her way; one knelt down to release the shackles. She collapsed, exhausted.

  ‘The visitors’ chambers,’ said Qudor. ‘Give her something to make sure she sleeps. Be careful,’ his final command. Despite his cold demeanour he couldn’t hate her − how could he? He still loved this alien being.

  ********************************

  The portal amplifier did its job. Oosapeth with his warriors less one who was still in quarantine back in the capital had control of Colony 7; entering the portal deep in space, a million miles from Earth, the space centre, complete with the degenerates from Xenox, silently, efficiently glided towards Earth. The mammoth space centre, in Oosapeth’s eyes, would prove pivotal in ridding Earth of the unsavoury Qudor Volkan. Time on Earth was of no consequence, the date for reference revealed 2nd April 2018 according to the time alignment on board the craft. It had been a mere few hours since Oosapeth departed; the game had changed.

  ‘Make contact with the base at Antarctica,’ said Oosapeth, a command immediately obeyed by one of the many operatives assigned to this floating prison back in Xenon − they came as part of the package, more of a hindrance than an asset. The co-ordinates were locked into the on-board system, so sophisticated was the technology that a pin would not go unnoticed, even at one million miles from the designated target.

  A warrior at the ice caves picked up the message. It read, ‘Colony 7 assigned, will be orbiting earth in 16.6 Earth hours (traveling at a rate of 60,000 kilometres an hour)’.

  ‘Copy,’ came the reply.

  ‘Report on Dane Vhastek. Has he returned?’ was the follow-up message.

  ‘Negative,’ was the reply.

  ‘What the hell is Vhastek up to?’ thought Oosapeth. ‘Give me an hourly update.’

  ‘Affirmative,’ came the reply.

  Oosapeth had enough on his hands, the prison population on the space station was formidable − that would take some explaining but he would worry about that later. For the moment, the coalition had the upper hand, a meaningful base in orbit, a docking station for military craft, a vantage point to assess the game playing out on Earth and, more importantly, a secure base.

  All was good as the beast of a station quietly and efficiently moved into play; in the chess game emerging on Earth this was the Queen. Oosapeth needed to address the prisoners and their confinement − whilst necessary for the moment would be Oosapeth’s trump card. He could offer the prisons a release from their hell to fight his cause. The offer in return would be their freedom.

  *********************************

  It must have been several hours before Annaluce regained consciousness. This unsavoury ritual of induced sleep was becoming irritable, equally so, her unrest at being separated from Dane.

  Qudor, the master technician in battle, played on weaknesses. Dane had shown immense naïvety, first attacking without acknowledging the obvious ambush tactics of his adversary, secondly, showing emotion at the sight of Annaluce shackled to the rock. Dane Vhastek, in Qudor’s eyes, had a weakness − Annaluce. The charred remains of the body Dane believed to be his loved one, would cloud his judgement. The return of Dane Vhastek from Zarduzian should reveal his plans once the implant signal could be received upon his return to Earth. Qudor afforded himself a wry smile.

  Annaluce’s appearance reflected the trauma of the torture chamber. Now she found herself in more familiar opulent surroundings, the guest suite. Qudor was playing a game, Annaluce had to match his deceit. If she had a chance of reuniting with her beloved she would have to be equally as deceitful as her opponent.

  Annaluce sensed his presence, the security doors opened with silent precision. The room, complete with a centralised hologram; a sleeping facility which emerged upon vocal command from panelled surroundings; food in vacuum-sealed pouches heated to perfection in seconds; drinks for every occasion sealed in oblong glass receptacles released with a mere touch, both cooled or heated to perfection, were all impressive. The creature comforts in this pad were unbelievable, even by Annaluce’s standards. To boast such opulence on a spacecraft reminded Annaluce of the attention to detail that first attracted her to the monster she now knew.

  Qudor entered.

  ‘I trust you are suitably refreshed?’ asked Qudor.

  No matter how repulsed she felt, Annaluce reminded herself that this was a game, one she must win if she was to see Dane Vhastek alive.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ replied Annaluce, already wearing the translator headset that had been provided.

  ‘I find it confusing, Annaluce. Apart from the obvious anatomical perfection, I am confused as to what exactly you have in common with the Undarthians?’

  ‘I am fighting for my very existence, Qudor, what would you have me do? I am on a planet my father wanted to populate, I have both you and Dane Vhastek either wanting to make passionate love to me or kill me. This is a matter of survival,’ replied Annaluce. In those few sentences, she knew she had thrown her nemesis an
olive branch.

  Qudor paced, an annoying habit, one Annaluce recognised as a time out mode, a process to analyse his carefully planned response.

  ‘Are you saying that you fear Dane Vhastek?’

  ‘I have become accustomed to his anger, but yes, at times I fear him.’

  ‘Did you ever fear me, Annaluce?’ A loaded question expertly delivered by Qudor.

  ‘Not until we became enemies, not of my choice I might add,’ replied Annaluce, an attempt to confuse her interrogator.

  More pacing. ‘It is not I who drew first blood. I am embroiled in a battle initiated by your father, deceitfully. I am here to reclaim the land of our forefathers. I did not pick this fight, Annaluce, yet you prefer the brute. What am I to do?’ asked Qudor.

  With this question Annaluce froze on the spot. This conversation could go horribly wrong. A change of tactic was necessary; a diversion.

  ‘So, Qudor, don’t tell me I’m the only love interest in your life. How do I know you weren’t just stringing me along? How do I know it wasn’t just to enrich your connections?’ asked Annaluce. The question hit a chord.

  ‘Because I do not play with my emotions, I have so few of them and so little time, I am a warrior. Warriors seldom reveal the kind of emotion I foolishly lavished in your direction.’

  ‘How do I know that you are not just using me as a pawn, to bait Dane?’

  ‘You think I need you? How naïve! I will keep you alive for as long as I desire. You may have a use, but it won’t be to defeat Dane Vhastek,’ replied Qudor.

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ commented Annaluce.

  A comrade entered the room, potentially punishable as the next meal for Qudor’s pets.

  ‘We have a problem,’ said the quivering messenger, clearly ordered to interrupt − the order from a warrior who was prepared to sacrifice a comrade.

  Qudor gave a look; the eyes slightly squinted hinting at an obvious disapproval. ‘Well?’

  ‘A space centre of some sort; Undarthian, Trollozyte or Zaagan, we can’t distinguish. It’s heading towards Earth.’

  Qudor glanced in Annaluce’s direction, weighing up whether she had any part in this offensive manoeuvre. ‘Enjoy this torture-free time, Annaluce, it may not last.’

  Qudor left swiftly with the messenger.

  Annaluce managed a temporary satisfying smile; her plan to deceive Qudor somehow still alive, long enough at least to devise an escape. How? She had no answer but sensed a weakness; Qudor’s bravado may be hiding his real feelings. This was a territory she knew well. A reunion with Dane just one plot away now, she had been granted time to devise a scheme − real hope was suddenly a reality.

  CHAPTER 24

  THE CONFERENCE

  Scott McCabe hardly recognised Washington. Bella would also be making her way and with his daughter safe for the moment, he was thankful for small blessings. The job in hand − to relay what he knew to the most important man on the planet, the President of the United States. The loss of his wife and son had hit him hard, but Scott had an opportunity to prevent many others potentially having to deal with the same fate. This was now his calling.

  The president’s direct line number emerged from the dorker’s dashboard, therefore, instant contact would be granted.

  ‘Mr President, this is Scott McCabe.’

  ‘Scott,’ greeted the president. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Hovering at 1,000 feet, Mr President. The machine is alien, kinda like a cross between a Vespa and a helicopter. You might recognise the machine; a couple were gunned down over Camp David. We need clearance and an escort in, if possible. Bella Laurent will join us, she is also on an alien machine. We’ll need a similar escort when she arrives.’

  Once the co-ordinates were relayed to the president’s military staff, helicopters were disposed to escort the alien craft towards the White House while others were put on alert for the arrival of the second dorker.

  The bunker below housed the president and his key staff. The situation on the outside was dire − the date − 2nd April 2018.

  The military surrounded the war table in the bunker. Screens depicting the chaos on the streets of America’s most famous cities were a gruesome reminder of the new reality. A world overrun with aliens and a war that humans didn’t need. Drayzaks terrorising citizens, adopting park areas as breeding grounds − the situation was unlike any horror imaginable.

  Fifteen minutes later, Scott entered the war room. The tension was felt as a wave. Surrounding the table, top military advisors suitably dressed in military uniforms: Scott noticed the array of bright colours depicting the rank and superiority of those advising the president. Others in suits, eagerly observing computer laptops, on the other hand, almost seemed indifferent to Scott’s entrance.

  ‘Scott McCabe,’ repeated the president as he moved closer, hand out in front. The handshake was solid, depicting a confident, powerful individual.

  ‘Mr President,’ greeted Scott, his mind suddenly blank. He had witnessed portal travel, aliens, been shot by one whilst escaping the killing chambers, yet he was lost for words meeting the president, of what he considered, the greatest nation on Earth, the USA.

  Around the table, in addition to the military, included the attorney general, joint chief of staff and head of defence, amongst others. Also, of course, his private secretary, all duly introduced and who all shook his hand.

  ‘Scott, I don’t need to tell you the gravity of the situation. You can see the devastation on the streets; it’s like this in most of the capitals worldwide. That’s bad enough but these aliens have either captured our most important military hardware or they disable our nuclear weapons at will with some kind of electromagnetic pulse. I mean, we need help right now,’ stated the president as all eyes in the room focused on Scott McCabe. He had delivered many a sermon as an evangelist, without a shred of nerves. For the moment, however, he was momentarily speechless.

  ‘We have allies,’ said Scott as he steadied himself for his full delivery. ‘It’s gotten complicated.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ said Wayne Straddler, the attorney general. With an immediate look of disdain and a shake of the head, Wayne realised his unwarranted comment did not meet with the president’s approval.

  ‘Carry on, Scott.’ A word of much needed encouragement from the president steadied Scott’s nerves.

  ‘The threat is an alien called Qudor Volkan, the one responsible for unleashing the monsters. He murdered Daxzus Zaetsalsae, he is the immediate threat and his plan seems ridiculously simple. To take over our planet,’ stated Scott.

  ‘And the good news? I mean, there’s surely got to be some good news at the end of such an Armageddon statement.’ Again, the president threw a look of disappointment in Wayne’s direction as he groaned disapprovingly at the news.

  ‘Perhaps… If you could just put a sock in it long enough I might get a chance to finish,’ said Scott, clearly, like the president, not impressed with these unhelpful outbursts. There were a few chuckles amongst the distinguished posse around the table, an obvious approval of Scott’s dressing down. ‘We have a formidable alliance of aliens fighting our cause − Dane Vhastek and Oosapeth.’ Scott was unaware of Oosapeth’s full name.

  ‘Jesus, we need a translator just to address them by their names. I mean, is it asking too much of these aliens, allegedly superior beings by all accounts, to keep their names simple like Dave or Mick or something?’ asked Eric Miller, the Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff. Seemed everyone was joining in the ridicule.

  ‘Alright, gentlemen, enough!’ ordered the president, conveniently intervening. The laughs amongst the delegates around the table were an indication of the underlying tension in the room. ‘Please go on.’

  ‘Look, you think this is a joke. Hell, I’ve been secured in a chamber ready to be fed to aliens prepared to eat me alive, shot at by an alien drone, witnessed my wife and son cruelly murdered by these alien monsters, barely managed to rescue my daughter, who, by the way, will be tr
aumatised forever, in the knowledge that she will never see her mother or brother again. You think this is the time for quips or sarcastic remarks? Think again,’ said Scott. The atmosphere changed and both Wayne and Eric lowered their heads in shame. The disapproving look from the president all the more evident.

  ‘Scott, we appreciate your heroic acts on our behalf. I speak for everyone around this table in our admiration of your efforts and we pass on our sincere condolences for your personal loss,’ said the president. Silence erupted and all the delegates stood. From each and every one a spontaneous round of applause. Scott wept, the reality of his losses, too much to bear.

  The timing couldn’t have been more perfect for Bella Laurent entered the room, saw Scott in distress which prompted an embrace. Bella and Scott hugged, their ordeal clearly showed for they were amongst their own − not aliens − the release of pent-up emotions was a natural reaction.

  ‘Bella Laurent, a heroine,’ announced Scott as he introduced his comrade, his eyes red and voice broken. Another applause, equally as loud, erupted around the room.

  The applause died down as the president had to get back on track. ‘So, how do we beat this Qudor Vulcan?’ asked the president.

  ‘Qudor Volkan, but close, Mr President,’ replied Scott, this time the laughter in appreciation of the man addressing the delegates in the war room. ‘By all accounts, his ears are pretty much the same as ours!’ More appreciative laughter.

  ‘Sorry, Volkan. How do we beat this alien with the same ears as ours?’ The much needed laughter continued − a typical human trait to diffuse a highly charged situation.

  ‘We beat the crap out of him,’ said Scott. ‘A term, I am assured is used by aliens, even with their superior intelligence, it is still the best phrase to get the point across.’ A standing ovation reflected the highly charged atmosphere in the room and a rally call followed.

  ‘So, to paraphrase an alien term, how exactly do we beat the crap out of him?’