‘Every minute of every day,’ replied James.
‘Then we must do something about this. We need to speak with Scott, Bella, Demitri and Patrick. We have to help your people.’
‘I had been thinking the same. In fact, Scott approached me after he and Bella returned. He lost his wife and son. His daughter is in safekeeping at the moment but he has no idea whether she is still alive or not. We need a craft.’
‘If we survive this and Earth is to be my home, then I belong with your race. The sooner I become accustomed, the better,’ said Serenix. Her eyes welled, emphasising her sincerity. ‘Father will want us to stay. He will not agree to an expedition to find your parents.’
‘Then we take a craft,’ repeated James. ‘I’ll explain to Scott and the others discreetly.’
‘My father will notice if we all disappear.’
‘Not if we secure our own craft when we evacuate the caves. We’ll convince your father that we, the humans, need to travel separately. All I have to do is change the co-ordinates at the portal at CERN and we take our chances.’
‘My father might become suspicious if all the humans travel together.’
‘We explain that we, as humans, have to get used to travelling without the aid of an alien, if we are to be useful in battle. What better time than now? It’s portal travel, he won’t suspect anything untoward.’
‘If I lost my father I would be devastated. If I lost you, I would not function,’ said Serenix. An embrace. A loving kiss. The plan was hatched.
*****************************
In the advent of a possible attack, the ice caves were to be destroyed once the convoy of craft safely exited and arrived on Colony 7, the use of portal travel being the quickest and safest to evacuate the ice cave in numbers. Dane Vhastek, the cause of this rushed migration, was becoming accustomed to destroying ice caves, an unwelcomed habit. By now he cared not, his only concern − Annaluce.
The migration involved many warriors, operatives and various alien species as well as the humans. Meticulous measures had been put into place to transfer all relevant data to those craft exiting the ice caves. Both Dane and Oosapeth independently, were preparing to exit. Anchorax had been supplied with co-ordinates to join his comrades on the space station later. Frantic movement of all personnel, although giving an impression of chaos, was in fact a well co-ordinated operation.
James Eaton made his move.
‘We have never operated a craft independently,’ said James, looking his future father-in-law squarely in the eyes.
‘This isn’t an appropriate time, James,’ replied Oosapeth.
‘I understand but it is important. Lately, I have been a spectator. I want to prove myself, both to you and your daughter. It’s only a portal manoeuvre. What could go wrong?’
‘As long as one of my operatives join you,’ replied Oosapeth.
‘Why?’ asked James. ‘What’s going to go wrong with portal travel? It’s not as if I’m flying the damn craft. I’m just going to sit there. I input the co-ordinates and we see you on Colony 7. At least give me that responsibility. I love your daughter but feel completely helpless whilst you and Dane orchestrate this war,’ said James as he gave a look, a look that suggested Oosapeth had deprived him of any dignity.
‘One trip?’ said Oosapeth.
‘If that’s all I am granted, yes, one trip.’
Oosapeth walked away. The deed was done.
***************************
The humans had undergone this exercise on many occasions, since the incident in Rome, which seemed a lifetime ago. James, Serenix and the others secured themselves into the alien seats, ready for the portal transportation. James knew the hologram; it was similar to that of the ice caves − the operational mechanisms were identical. The hologram of Earth appeared with the pre-determined destination already factored in, that of the space centre hovering many thousands of miles outside of Earth’s atmosphere.
James thrust his hand into the hologram and played the contraption with consummate ease. His abilities to hack just about any human computer system on Earth had been useful in his assessment of alien equipment. His colleagues looked on in awe, as did Serenix.
‘Guys and gals, we are heading to CERN. From there, the White House, Washington DC. Our species needs us. Are you with me?’
A cry erupted. His colleagues were with him. After weeks of conforming to the aliens’ commands, these humans were taking control. It was exhilarating, liberating and testimony to human resolve. If they died in the cause, so be it!
James looked around. Serenix was beaming with pride and mouthed the words, ‘I love you.’ She was mastering the English language.
The craft shook; the familiar sound of the entry through the portal was now as familiar as the sound of a plane preparing for lift-off. Within seconds the craft emerged at CERN. A flash of blue and the craft appeared. The hologram instantly detected many drones. Qudor Volkan had guarded the portal. James Eaton had not factored in the extent of the opposition they might meet.
‘Activate the electromagnetic pulse!’ shouted Scott.
‘Activated,’ confirmed James.
‘Now, get the hell out of here!’ was Scott’s follow-up order.
‘Jesus, we are hit!’ screamed Patrick.
The hologram resembled a swarm of bees. Drones everywhere. Hundreds of them. Many more than Dane had encountered.
‘We got any kind of protection shield on this craft?’ shouted Scott.
‘Not sure,’ replied James.
‘A hell of a time to start referring to the operating manual, James,’ said Scott.
‘Yeah, sarcasm is really going to help!’
‘I can translate the hieroglyphics!’ shouted Serenix.
‘You can’t leave your seat,’ replied James.
‘Don’t need to,’ she said as she shouted out an instruction to the hologram in her native alien tongue. A symbol emerged; it was a triangle with three dots inside.
‘Now what do I do?’ asked James.
‘Touch the symbol.’
The symbol turned green. The view through the cockpit visor displayed a bright green halo surrounding the craft. The enemy fire was no longer rocking the craft. The ship was stabilised.
‘I repeat − let’s get the hell out of here!’ said Scott.
The craft sped and the drones were powerless. The humans were on their way to join their own, it felt good.
‘Good job, Mr Eaton!’ shouted Patrick, as an appreciative round of applause erupted.
‘Don’t mention it,’ replied James in a typically blasé English fashion.
The craft was being bombarded with missiles, but the shield was holding well. James Eaton had a graphic on his destination, the White House, Washington DC. Unbeknown to the humans and Serenix, their presence at CERN had gained attention. Qudor Volkan was astute enough to consider a scenario where enemy alien craft may be able to dust off the drones. His other spacecraft were far more powerful, far more capable. The move not to follow Oosapeth to Colony 7 seemed naïve at best but in reality their lives were in grave danger.
Boom! A huge hit to the craft, destabilising the intricate on-board technology. The hologram imaging was severely challenged as it flickered − as a satellite dish might distort a television image.
‘What the hell was that?’ asked Scott.
‘I think we might have upset someone,’ said James.
‘Understatement,’ said Patrick.
‘It’s a pulse wave to destabilise our shield,’ said Serenix. ‘We can’t take too many hits.’
‘Hell, looks like a swarm of craft heading our way,’ said James, observing the holographic imaging. ‘What speed will this bird fly?’
‘We should be able to out run them,’ replied Serenix. ‘We need to descend, get low to the ground.’
James homed in on the ground imaging − playing the hologram with the same precision, speed and elegance that you might expect an expert weaving a tapestry. The craft f
ell at speed, meandering majestically to try to throw off the enemy. Boom! Another hit and the hologram flickered, the craft temporarily thrown off course.
‘Are we all strapped in?’ James checked, a rather frivolous question given the barrage of extensive fire. They had naïvely expected little opposition. Serenix was questioning the stupidity of her actions. Her father, assuming she survived the onslaught, would clearly blame James, but it was the least of her worries at that moment.
Boom! More hits to a no doubt, damaged craft.
Nobody would know that the only humans on Earth, who knew the extent of the battle for control of Earth, were all gathered together in one alien craft. Nobody could come to their rescue. Nobody would know. This was war. They were unprepared, at best, too optimistic; they were out of their league.
*******************************
The bunker underneath the White House had become the president’s home since the onslaught of the Drayzaks. It had been weeks since the incident in St Peter’s Square, Rome, on 15th February 2018, yet it seemed like years. The world was at war with aliens, not just one alien race but several. Not only had the aliens demilitarised the humans with far advanced technology, they were now inflicting these monsters, Drayzaks, on the unprotected and unsuspected public, worldwide. Anarchy had set in. News channels were more or less powerless, satellites were being tampered with, telecommunication masts destroyed – there was no way to fight back, no realistic possibility of allying with humans on a global basis. The president could only watch helpless, defenceless and powerless.
The president sat with his key personnel in a room designed for the possibility of combating a nuclear war from our own species, but not from aliens. The mood was sombre. Several commanders were present including the Secretary of Defence, Julian Argyle-Phillips and the Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff, Eric Miller.
The Head of Administration at NASA, Edmund William Nelson, knocked on the door. Normal protocol had been abandoned once the president realised that his power had significantly diminished with the superiority of the alien beings; so, Edmund didn’t wait for an acknowledgement to enter. He simply entered. Wearing jeans and a t shirt, again with protocol out the window, he addressed the group.
The president looked up; there had been so many false dawns, so many disappointments in this seemingly hopeless battle, that his face represented a beaten man. His folded arms did little to offer protection, just a symbol of a dejected man.
‘Mr President, there has been a development,’ said William, his tone depicting a man who didn’t want to deliver a further blow to the cause.
‘I sincerely hope it is good news,’ said the president. ‘If you are going to tell me that we have run out of coffee, William, then I would rather you keep it to yourself.’ A comment that drew muted laughter. Spirits were low and yet often, a humorous comment could show enough defiance to raise spirits.
‘No, we’re good on the coffee, Mr President,’ replied William as the president put his right palm on his chest to indicate a close call. ‘It’s an image we have received, Mr President.’
‘Don’t tell me − it’s a white flag and the aliens have surrendered?’
‘We have an affirmative of at least one casualty from an alien craft which has crashed near CERN. The craft was under heavy fire, Mr President, but the image of the casualties is significant. We have identified one of the casualties as Bella Laurent.’
‘How in hell’s name did that happen? What in God’s name is Bella Laurent doing in an alien craft near CERN?’ asked the president incredulously.
‘There are two other causalities, but they are face down, so we are unable to get a clear visual for identification purposes. Our concern is that there may have been more than one human on board.’
‘Are they alive?’ asked the president.
‘Unknown, I’m afraid.’
‘What about the aliens who shot them down, are they still in the area?’ asked Julian.
‘Negative,’ replied William. ‘Looks like it’s a case of mission accomplished, Sir.’
‘Then get our boys over there and pick them up!’ demanded the president.
William left followed closely by Julian.
The fight against the aliens just took a turn for the worst and the president knew it.
CHAPTER 37
THE VIRUS
Oosapeth arrived at Colony 7 by way of a manufactured portal within the space centre’s vicinity. The ice caves would no longer be of any use, Dane had seen to that. There was just one problem: Where the hell was Serenix and the others? All other craft had safely arrived, the migration from the ice caves complete, except for that of his daughter and the humans. What could have possibly gone wrong? Without the craft there was no possibility to access the data to see whether there had been a malfunction, if any. Travelling through the portal should have been quick. The problem baffling Oosapeth was the loss of contact.
‘This is all Dane Vhastek’s fault’, thought Oosapeth. ‘If he hadn’t chased after Annaluce recklessly then we needn’t have evacuated the ice caves’. His worry turned to anger. In full military regalia he was prepared for a battle; in reality, no armament could assist him with this dilemma.
Oosapeth’s first reaction was to check the working order of the portal. Had there been a malfunction of some kind? He messaged through to Dane’s craft that his daughter was missing while at the same time checking the portal reading to see if all was in working order. In essence, it was a fruitless exercise, as portals were fixed tears in the fabric of space and Oosapeth had never known a portal to cease of its own accord. The readings confirmed his theory.
He messaged Dane for the second time:
‘I need to go back to see what has happened to my daughter’, the message read.
‘Too dangerous. The ice cave will be destroyed. The only portal available is CERN which is surrounded by enemy craft’, came the reply.
Oosapeth knew it was pointless. Now was not the time to further jeopardise the mission. His only salvation in his mind was that Anchorax would be taking Dane Vhastek out of the picture. He needed to get his thoughts together.
‘We dock at Colony 7. We will assess the situation from there’, was the final message from Oosapeth. All other craft on the convoy heading to the space station, from the nearby portal, were notified.
********************************
The operation was precision. Even though Qudor Volkan had electromagnetically destabilised the majority of the most devastating weapons humans possessed, thus seriously denting their ability to fight back, aircraft were still operational. Indeed, the Olympianas had to systematically send pulses of electromagnetic force worldwide to continue destabilising the enemy. Lulls allowed communication to re-establish. The military in France, during a lull, ensured that the casualties from the crash were rescued. In an orchestrated effort those casualties were delivered to Area 51. Within ten hours via helicopter and a stealth plane the victims were in quarantine, seeking medical assistance.
Colonel Smithers, heading the operation to quarantine and interrogate the casualties, made the call to the president; all were now fully aware that his new residence was the bunker beneath the White House.
The date, 25th April 2018, the time in Washington DC, 11.28am.
‘Mr President, this is Colonel Smithers. Sir, I have an update on the crash victims at CERN.’
‘Good to hear from you; go ahead.’
‘We can confirm that one of the victims is Bella Laurent, who is in a very serious condition but still alive. The other remaining victim is James Eaton, Mr President, who is also alive and able to talk,’ reported Smithers. ‘I have some bad news, I’m afraid. The rest of the crew who perished were humans, Mr President, except for one other casualty who is an alien, a female called Serenix.’
‘All other casualties are human?’ asked the president.
‘Yes, Mr President. The rest of the surviving humans, from the abduction in St Peter’s Square on 15th F
ebruary, are all dead.’
A silence engulfed the room.
‘We need these two heroes to fully recover and we need as much information as possible to help us beat these damn aliens. I want an hourly update, you hear me?’
‘I hear you, Mr President,’ was the reply as they both signed off.
***************************
The convoy prepared to dock. Colony 7 was an impressive sight as the craft approached, a huge complex, a menacing black mini space city; the craft docking as insignificant in size as a car travelling across the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. They entered the docking area on automatic pilot as the space city controlled their entry.
Oosapeth was impatient and angry. He wanted answers. He cursed himself for allowing himself to be persuaded by the human. He had made the same mistake with his wife all those years ago, on an expedition, a dangerous expedition where she had insisted that she would be fine, only to fall to her death. He should have insisted that she do as she was told but he didn’t. History was repeating itself.
An operative greeted Oosapeth, as were those in the other craft, but as Oosapeth was commander in chief the operative gave preferential treatment to his superior.
Oosapeth looked stressed and tired. He put this down to the trauma of the whereabouts of his daughter. His brow was drenched in sweat and his skin blotchy, probably due to the adrenaline rush caused by extreme concern. The operative, however, immediately recognised his ailment.
‘We need to quarantine you, I’m afraid,’ stated the operative.
‘I don’t have time for this!’ replied Oosapeth impatiently.
‘It’s routine, I’m sorry,’ pressed the operative, not wishing to draw attention to his concerns.
‘Serenix is missing and I need to track her whereabouts. I’m overriding your order.’
‘On Colony 7, I override the commander in chief if I believe there may be a threat to the space centre. You need to follow me to the quarantine area,’ instructed the operative. ‘It’s routine and will only take a few moments. I will need to quarantine all the passengers of the incoming craft.’
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