Earth vs Alien

by Ronald D Thompson

  The clarity of the water cubes unravelled the mystery. Species belonging to the water were equally confined. The cylinders were limited to life existing on land. The water cubes – the creatures of the sea.

  Two identical crafts neared, descending slowly, effortlessly. The attention of the creatures imprisoned turned towards the craft, constantly moving their attention from the craft, to the two naked prisoners. A drill they had seen, their silence spoke volumes.

  Senator Lace Adams sized up the situation, unable to move more than a few centimetres for fear of being stopped in his tracks by the severe electronic fire from either of the two drones above. The belly of the large craft opened fully and two metallic-looking, heavily framed, cube-like devices lowered through cylinders extending downwards. No sign of wheels, they hovered a metre above the ground. The cubes opened themselves, changed shape, taking on the form of a human shape with arms, legs and a metallic head. This latest robotic figure represented a cross between a manikin and a multifaceted penknife a boy scout might use.

  ‘Stop!’ shouted Lace. ‘I am Senator Lace Adams from this planet, in the future.’

  The two craft continued.

  ‘I demand you stop!’ shouted Lace again. Unperturbed, he continued: ‘My name is Lace Adams and I am being monitored. I order you to stop.’ Quite why he, Lace Adams, had adopted such a stance was beyond him. Perhaps there was a moral code amongst these creatures, a kind of Geneva Convention code − a long shot but Lace could think of no other method. His fellow captive creatures, other than his female counterpart, seemed unable to converse or in any way assist.

  The female recovered from the electronic zapping which had temporarily disabled her ability to function. She began to shout in a similar tongue to Lace, yet in a language clearly not of this planet. Both drones ceased movement, stopped in their tracks, as if remotely controlled.

  The belly of the craft, complete with its own exit pods in the form of cylinders that lowered from the undercarriage of the craft, revealed a new threat. Figures, of a human shape, descended, the lower half emerging were evidence to that fact. Lace looked over at the creature by his side. Close up her beauty was undeniable, her tears, however, a worrying testimony as to what might unravel. Again, she placed her forefinger to her full lips, an obvious gesture to ensure Lace kept quiet.

  As the alien figures approached, their cube-like counterpart robots remained in a static position. As they neared, a mere three metres away, the female fell to the ground, hands out in front, parallel, placed on the earth in homage to the three aliens approaching. This was an act of a being who either knew the enemy was approaching or was preparing herself for punishment. Of the three figures, the middle one clearly demanded respect. The two following close behind at either side, heads lowered, an acceptance of the superiority of the figure leading the way, did little to convince Lace that they would be a threat. It was obvious that the lead alien was the real danger.

  The figure in the middle, ironically smaller than his comrades but of a muscular build, spoke to the female on the ground. Strangely she appeared to understand and stood before him. None of the three approaching had hair on their heads, unlike the female beside Lace whose hair reminded him of an autumn red. Her long flowing locks, although dishevelled and windswept due to the tornado that had extracted her from the cylinder, looked awkwardly stunning to Lace.

  She spoke back, pointing to Lace, shaking her head frantically − an obvious gesture to dissuade the bald-headed alien not to carry out whatever it was the creatures, watching from the cylinders, feared. He spoke back, the language of the same tongue; the creature of beauty understood his every word. The female shouted some more, arms flailing, gesturing. The gestures were similar to those of a human − the waving of index finger from side to side indicating a displeasure of a proposed action; palms held out parallel in an act of pleading; crossed hands to her bosom signifying an offering of herself − none of these looked remotely promising. The bald-headed alien − his lower half dressed in jodhpur-like pants, as if he might be ready for a horse ride, his top half a tight-fitting purple garment without cover over the arms – nodded in agreement to whatever the female had requested.

  One of his accomplices walked over to the female with some garments in his hand. She duly dressed. The alien accomplice returned. Amongst the garments handed to the female alien was seemingly enough to also dress Lace. She walked over, handing Lace the garments. He didn’t need to be told − he dressed.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Lace. His immediate afterthought was, ‘She isn’t going to understand me, so why ask?’

  ‘They want to know about the machine you arrived in,’ said the being, the accent a cross between French and German.

  ‘You can understand me?’ asked Lace.

  ‘Language is universal. We speak all languages. I heard you shouting in the cylinder and picked up your native language.’

  ‘But who are you?’ asked Lace.

  ‘I am Verzula. We are from the planet Noona on the outer regions of your galaxy.’

  She sounded sexy and it seemed strange to Lace that he would even think that in these circumstances. He wasn’t sure how to answer or if he could trust her.

  ‘What do your alien people intend to do with me?’

  ‘It would be best if you tell them the answer about the function of the machine. They will not torture us if we answer their questions. The kill will be clean,’ replied Verzula ominously.

  ‘You mean, if they like my answer they will kill us cleanly, if I refuse to answer they torture us?’ asked Lace. This was surreal. An alien race, a distant planet, captured, no time capsule, no way out. ‘It is a time capsule, but they will not be able to operate it without a special device,’ said Lace, loud enough to be heard by the unwanted guests. The look in his eyes carried a subliminal message that his outburst might be for a reason, hoping his female captive would pick up on his suggestive gaze.

  The bald alien of superiority walked forward slowly with a confident swagger, his shadow eerily human-like.

  ‘Where is the operating device?’ asked the bald alien, his voice almost indistinguishable, not nearly as appealing as his female partner, more a computerised offering and not in the least enticing.

  ‘You might as well kill me; I have no interest in giving up the piece of equipment so superior to your level of intelligence. It is set to self-destruct if I do not disengage the timing device. I would rather die knowing you will never know the truth behind the machine,’ said Lace.

  The three aliens conversed in hushed voices. ‘Why are they talking softly? I haven’t a clue what they are saying anyway’, thought Lace. Until he gazed at Verzula, it was immediately obvious.

  ‘We will trade Verzula’s life for the device and you will remain a slave,’ said the bald alien.

  An impossible position − Lace knew it and the aliens knew it. Lace paused.

  ‘Why have you imprisoned her?’ asked Lace in an attempt to buy time.

  The alien paused.

  ‘Releasing food,’ replied the bald alien.

  ‘Food?’ asked Lace.

  The alien looked at Lace in a manner to suggest that he wasn’t prepared to elaborate. The penny dropped: the cylinders + the water cubes = food banks.

  ‘I agree with your demand, on one condition,’ said Lace. He did not finish the sentence but looked at Verzula in a manner to indicate that he needed her to trust him.

  ‘Your condition?’

  ‘That I kill her,’ replied Lace.

  The aliens again huddled with whispered conversations. The bald alien nodded.

  ‘Then bring me my own garments. I need to dress properly,’ said Lace.

  The bald alien spoke, a comrade wandered off and spoke to another guard; each cylinder was guarded, these aliens were organised, like Roman centurions might guard a turret; within minutes the garments were returned. The device, a tennis ball size, was hidden amongst a number of travel items in a large pouch around the midriff. O
ther items included gel to quench thirst, a clever knife with ingenious attachments, a small pair of vision enhancers and scissors, amongst other useful items.

  The item, similar to a hand grenade with a timer hologram activated by retina recognition, could destroy the whole area.

  Lace took out the device. In the distance another craft was approaching, not a drone or a spacecraft but the kind the bald alien travelled in but a more robust, military-type space-craft, a dirty grey in colour about 50 metres in length. A smaller craft lowered slowly to within metres of Lace, partially blocking the sunlight from Lace’s eyes; a blessed temporary relief. A sealed cylinder lowered, grey and metallic-looking; the time capsule was revealed as the cylinder retracted into the undercarriage of the smaller craft, disappearing silently, effortlessly.

  ‘For this demonstration I need Verzula to sit in the capsule,’ instructed Klade.

  The bald alien pointed to the capsule, the order was made. Verzula walked slowly, looking back at Lace as she did, the sun beating down with her hair glowing. The creatures in the torture cylinders were absorbed with the action unfolding.

  ‘Open!’ shouted Lace and the two halves of the time capsule parted; vocal recognition guaranteed that they would. Holding the device in his left hand he walked towards the time capsule.

  ‘Please sit,’ asked Lace of Verzula. ‘Set the time to 15 minutes from the present,’ was the verbal order. ‘I will send Verzula to her death but return the time capsule empty and unscathed. This will be a demonstration of its capability.’

  This was a gamble. Lace hadn’t figured out how to explain the way in which Verzula might die or whether they would indeed think to question how she might die.

  ‘I will activate the time capsule with my device,’ said Lace as he brought up the hologram image from within the Z1845X. ‘I will set the device to activate the time capsule in one minute, Earth minutes. The capsule doors will shut, the capsule will disappear. I will reset the device and the capsule will return. Verzula will not. I will be forcing the time machine to return too quickly. Verzula will fragment in the same manner that colleagues of mine in the future fragmented, until we learned the safety time parameters for time travel.’

  The hologram showed the seconds counting down. The aliens looked both bemused and confused. The hologram continued to count down. After 30 seconds, the capsule door was still open. Verzula had a look of terror on her face. After 15 seconds, Lace had the same look of terror. After ten seconds, Lace pulled his arm back and threw the device towards the bald alien. The Z1845X seemed to glide, almost in slow motion, glistening as it caught the sun’s rays.

  Lace lunged towards Verzula, pressing the red button to activate his instruction, ‘Set the time to 15 minutes from the present and close the door.’ The door closed and both he and Verzula were trapped, unable to move. The metallic noise indicated that the time capsule was activating, which followed by a flash of light with the capsule disappearing.

  The aliens stared at the device that landed at the feet of the bald alien as the device counted down the seconds − five, four, three, two, one.

  ‘Open,’ insisted Lace. Verzula was bemused, trying to come to terms with the events taking place. Lace released his hold of the female alien, stepped back outside the time capsule once the doors were fully open and turned around. The area was devoid of water cubes and had instead become a flood plain. Absent were the torture chambers and sadly, so were the creatures – ‘a blessing’, thought Lace – the area flattened of any natural habitat, any creatures to which this was home were no longer − the devastation was as far as the eye could see. The land smouldered, charred and was lifeless; ‘How could a device the size of a tennis ball cause such devastation?’ wondered Lace. Nevertheless, his plan had been a success.

  Verzula emerged delicately from the small time capsule and lingered. She turned a full 360 degrees taking in the devastation. She was still alive and Lace was still alive with no sight of an enemy. ‘Where am I?’ she thought.

  The landscape had been changed, the enemy destroyed and Lace still had the time capsule. He contemplated his predicament. He could return to 2218, a complicated alien-controlled world, far and away from the desolate tranquillity of the barren land that lay before him. Verzula was stunningly beautiful; no more pressure, no demands, no facing the inquisition of the Council of the Light.

  Lace looked at Verzula who looked back. Two beings alone in time, both unwanted by their own species, neither wanting the moment to end. Freedom beckoned − a new beginning where time mattered little.

  The time capsule offered nothing − the new Earth, everything.

  CHAPTER 28

  THE TIME CONUNDRUM

  Had Robert Stave altered events? That question, an inevitable conundrum, entered his mind as he considered the interrogation he must endure at the hands of the one he despised. His stealth bomber had been taken over by Qudor Volkan on February 23rd 2018. His instruments were frozen out of use, just as the F16s had been, as were the stealth bombers that his predecessors, in 2018, had sent from Area 51, or the Russian stealth bombers for that matter. Now Robert Stave had created an anomaly, an action that would prevent the historical events, from here on in, happening.

  Robert Stave, despite his predicament − his capture − had a weapon capable of devastation way beyond that of a mere military devastation in 2018. A weapon that Qudor Volkan could not combat.

  Robert Stave faced Qudor Volkan, not with fear but with excitement. The knowledge that he could accurately predict the events of the future and manipulate those events in whatever format suited his situation was, in Robert Stave’s eyes, the ultimate power.

  The Olympianas, who controlled New Manhattan in 2218, were the most despicable of alien beings. He despised them right through to his core, no one more than Qudor Volkan, a legend of the past. Retribution was inevitable, Robert Stave intended to exact it. ‘Bring it on’, thought Robert.

  Qudor Volkan was faced with a human he considered just an ordinary human, one of a number belonging to a fleet of craft he had already captured, primitive in its technology. His only concern was that this pilot was not part of a squadron and flew single-handedly. This would be a short interview: ask a few questions and let his beloved Drayzaks feast. Qudor had other, more important matters to attend to and this distraction was unwelcome. Time would not be afforded to his captive.

  Robert had been unconscious for some time. His garments – hidden underneath the stolen uniform of Hank Richards which he discarded as he entered the stealth bomber at Area 51 − were not in keeping with the technology of the human race in 2018 but far more sophisticated. The wellbeing of the individual wearing these garments was a concern for those in 2218, therefore the sophisticated monitoring devices; anti-sweat garments, almost impossible-to-tear-material, were unknown in the 21st century. The fabric, known as Elaxa, had been developed to travel in space, to withstand solar rays, to keep an astronaut alive should the space suit malfunction, along with a multitude of other neat functions. However, the metallic colour immediately caught the attention of Qudor Volkan and puzzled him as it almost gave off the effect of an optical illusion.

  Qudor wore the translator helmet, a necessary gadget but of which was becoming tiresome.

  ‘I don’t intend to spare your life. You have been in an induced sleep for some time now,’ said Qudor unceremoniously.

  ‘Interesting!’ replied Robert, his stare demonstrating, without doubt, his total disdain for the alien who stood before him. ‘Tell me, Qudor Volkan, who resides from the planet Olympiana, a planet your ancestors, who originated from Earth, populated some 3.3 million Earth-years previous?’

  Qudor, for probably the first time in his life, found himself out-manoeuvred by this human standing before him. The squinting of the eyes, the confused frown − an indication, through pure body language, that Robert had played a checkmate move with his opening statement.

  ‘Why place me in an induced sleep?’ asked Robert of the Olympiana fa
cing him.

  ‘We have other captives, you were in the way.’

  ‘Do you have the portal amplifier?’ asked Robert.

  ‘How do you know about the portal amplifier?’

  ‘I’ll explain. You won’t get the codes from Daxzus.’

  Qudor looked bemused. ‘How does he know about Daxzus?’

  ‘Dane Vhastek, a clever move,’ said Qudor, trying to put a little confusion in his opponent’s mind by name-dropping, in the hope to reveal how this human knew so much.

  ‘Dane Vhastek, Daxzus Zaetsalsae or Oosapeth, perhaps? Would you like me to continue? How about your second in command, Gorgon?’ replied Robert. His history of the alien wars was impeccable.

  ‘Enough, enough!’ said Qudor, now totally out-played by this unknown opponent.

  The Drayzaks either side of Robert became restless as Qudor’s voice became more aggressive. The same torture chamber that Daxzus would later suffer, as history dictated, was Robert’s awaited interrogation chamber. Qudor was a being of habit.

  ‘From where you hail?’ asked Qudor.

  ‘Earth,’ replied Robert with a superior smirk, almost revelling in confusing his opponent, mindful however of his short temper; the pain he might suffer if he pushed his luck too far, would be unbearable.

  ‘That cannot be. You could not possibly know this information,’ said Qudor. For the first time his guard was dropping for he could no longer match Robert in the mind games arena.

  ‘What if I told you that you will lose this battle? What if I told you that I know where you went wrong, that I know your opponents’ every move?’ said Robert.

  ‘Then I should kill you now. You may try to fool me with random facts that you may have obtained through trickery. I have to admit it is an impressive display but not convincing enough to save you,’ replied Qudor, having now absorbed the shock of the information Robert had offered.

  Robert could see in Qudor’s eyes that at any moment he could release his pets and his death would be agonising. His opponent had immediately regained control.