My mind raced to put the pieces together. "You're here and not here—your body is back on your home planet, but your mind is here.” I suddenly had it. “That's what proximity locks are. They hold your minds, your thought patterns."
"Until we can transfer them into human brains," Couttis said. "We call ourselves the Conveyed. Not only did we solve the hostile environment problem, we ended up using far less energy. We weren't transporting millions of tons of physical artifacts. We were sending brainwave patterns, and those have no mass."
"But this cavern, the equipment. Someone had to construct it."
"In the beginning," Couttis said, "we sent nanobots through the wormhole, semi-sentient beings so small they could survive the journey. They performed the initial work. We transitioned to slightly larger robots once the cavern was finished. We experienced numerous failures but kept trying, and we eventually succeeded. That’s when we started employing the proximity locks, and sent our minds to this alien world. It was an act of desperation that turned into the greatest achievement in our long history."
His words reminded me of something Doug Belle, or more correctly, the being inside of him had said.
It was our greatest accomplishment. Some said it cemented our genius.
Ask the Stranded...I doubt they'd be so charitable.
"Who are the Stranded?" I asked.
Couttis blanched. "How do you know about them?"
"I'm remarkably well-informed, remember?"
Couttis opened his mouth to reply, but closed it when a worker bee walked past, looking askance at us. Couttis waited until the man was out of earshot before continuing. "Our sun is close to going nova. When it does, our world and our civilization, with its long history of triumphs, will be gone. In an effort to save some scrap of ourselves, we decided to abandon our planet. Unfortunately, we found it necessary to limit how many would make the trip. Our population had reached over one hundred billion. Earth's population has yet to reach a tenth of that. There were simply more of us than you, so most of our kind had to stay behind. They were, to give a name to them, the Stranded."
"You condemned them to stay behind and die?"
"A painful decision but a necessary one," he said, "though many are still alive, scraping out a meager existence deep underground and safe from our sun’s now lethal radiation. We left behind family and friends we had known for centuries. The selection process resulted in riots. Many died who could have made the journey. It was a dark blot on our shining moment."
"What do they have to do with what’s going on now?"
"A small faction of the Conveyed felt we had been too harsh to our people, that we should have brought more of us to Earth. The rest, myself included, argued to stick with our original plan. We can't save our world, and condemning another civilization into extinction for the sake of saving ours went against every moral tenet we held.” He looked around the cavern, at what they had created, and sighed. “The bitter feelings remained. Now, decades later, we face the prospect of expanding our influence, and the question of the Stranded has resurfaced. There is a push to convey more of our kind, to bring more of the Stranded to Earth."
"How many?"
"As many as will be left on your world.”
"What do you mean, as many as will be left?"
Couttis rubbed at a spot on his temple. I had the feeling it was a gesture the real Kent Couttis would have made.
"We left an overpopulated and polluted planet," he said. "Earth is on the same trajectory. Do the math, Doctor. At the pace humanity is reproducing, you will experience the same problems as our planet within six hundred years. There will be too many of you, and you will be close to depleting your planet’s resources. The same faction who wants to bring over more of the Stranded feels we are abandoning one disaster for another, and it needs to be stopped."
I suddenly found it hard to breathe. "Stopped how?"
"The new plan," Couttis said, "is to release a virus, one we are working on modifying. It will infect every human on the planet, but it will remain dormant until it detects a trigger. At that point, it will become virulent."
"And the trigger?"
"Aging," he said. "The virus bonds to the mitochondria inside human cells. When someone reaches a certain age, those mitochondria start releasing a small peptide. The peptide is the trigger."
"What happens when the virus is triggered?"
"The body will begin to age far faster than normal. Within weeks, it will fail and the person will die. They intend to solve your overpopulation problem with, as you humans like to say, extreme prejudice."
"You can't be serious. Killing everyone who gets older?" He was describing a global holocaust, death on an unprecedented scale. "What kind of monsters are you?"
Couttis stiffened. "I'm not the monster. I don't want this to happen."
"But what about your human hosts? They’ll age, and you’ll end up killing yourselves as well."
"That won’t be a problem," Couttis said. "We’ll simply convey ourselves into younger hosts before the virus is triggered. That’s why we’re focusing on children, on creating a broader population of youth we can use." He suddenly looked uncomfortable. "We’ve never conveyed a mind into a human fetus, which would be our ideal method of staying with a host for as long as possible. If we can successfully accomplish that, there would be no stopping this horror from happening."
A sound came from inside the tent where Frank and Annabelle St. Crux were held. I heard a groan, then voices arguing, then shouting and the crash of metal. A man ran out of the tent, his nose dripping blood. He saw Couttis and stopped.
“The man in there was due for his sedative,” he said, holding up a syringe. “He woke up. He wouldn't cooperate.”
Frank staggered from the tent. “What the fuck were you trying to put into me?”
I stepped forward. “Frank.”
"Paco?" His voice was scratchy. "What the hell?"
The other man used the opportunity to run. Couttis let him go.
“Frank,” I repeated. My friend, for the first time since I'd known him, looked frail. I helped him back inside the tent. "We owe Ricky Womblic an apology."
"The grease-monkey? What for?"
"For not believing him."
* * *
"This is bullshit," Frank said. He sat on the cot, the jellyfish-thing still attached to his face. There was no sign of Annabelle St. Crux. "I can't fucking believe it."
"Detective Swinicki," Couttis said. "Please calm down. The healing process isn't complete."
"You wanna see what I think of your E.T. crap?" Frank grabbed the creature attached to his face and worked his thick fingers under it.
Couttis jumped forward. "NO!"
Frank tugged at the jellyfish. Like a suction cup, it pulled his skin, and the thin tendrils were stretched thinner. He tugged harder until the jellyfish suddenly popped free. He threw it at Couttis. It hit the man in the chest and fell to the ground.
I stared at Frank's face. His wounded socket had healed—sort of. New skin replaced most of the ragged edges where his eye had been ripped out. It flowed into the socket until it disappeared behind his new "eye." The alien orb was smaller than a human eye, milky white and perched atop a stalk, with thin red lines like sickly pinworms crawling across the surface. It lacked a pupil, and there wasn't a proper eyelid, only a fold of pale flesh hanging from his brow. Beneath the eye, a patch of his cheek had turned an ugly, purple color. It looked like no bruise I had ever seen.
"You fool!" Couttis picked up the jellyfish-thing. Its vibrant, sea-green color was already fading. "I try to help you and this is how you repay me? YOU DAMNED FOOL!"
Frank eased his bulk off the cot. He looked alarmingly thin; his clothes hung like veils from his frame. He grabbed Couttis by the shirt.
"Listen, pal," he rasped. "You want to murder most everyone on the planet so you can take over. Forgive me if I'm not fawning over your efforts to 'help' me." He shoved the officer away. "You're a freak, even
if you look human."
I took hold of Frank's arm. "He doesn't want that to happen. He's asking for our help."
Frank glared at Couttis. "He's a space alien. What could he possibly need from us?"
"The doctor's correct," Couttis said, smoothing his shirt. "I need your help." He approached an aluminum case, opened it, and withdrew our stun grenades. He dropped them into Frank's hand. "A sign of good faith. I wouldn't do this if I didn't need your cooperation."
Frank pocketed the grenades. "Fuck you, asshole. You started this, you finish it. We're not here to clean up your mess."
Couttis's face went crimson. He took an angry step toward Frank.
Footsteps could suddenly be heard echoing in the cavern, growing louder and accompanied by low, angry voices. A body sailed into the medical tent and landed on the floor. My eyes widened when I saw who it was.
Cyrus Kline, his clothes torn, his tanned, hipster face marred by blood, his eyes closed.
A man strolled into the tent. He wore jeans and a tight, black sweater. A series of angry scrapes marred the skin on his cheek and chin. A skull earring gleamed from his left lobe.
Conrad Hunter, Emersville's mayor.
Couttis and Hunter seemed to size one another up, their eyes searching, their expressions tight. On the ground, Cyrus Kline groaned. His lanky body shifted, and he rolled onto his back. Bruises covered the other side of his face. He had received a hell of a beating. When he saw Hunter, his expression darkened.
"You had no right to attack me." The hipster spat blood; a small tooth joined in for good measure. "I'm the one who warned you about Systh, about what he was doing."
Quick as a betrayal, Conrad Hunter kicked Kline in the ribs. More blood flew from between his lips.
"I not only had the right," Hunter said. "I had the authority."
"Whose authority?" Couttis said, his young face a mask of fury.
"Mine," said a third voice, young and thin. A girl walked into the tent. She looked to be about four, with a pudgy face and long, chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail. Either her mother was color-blind or a madwoman, because the girl wore an odd mash-up of green and orange cloth loosely assembled into a kind of dress. She glared at Kline with an anger I had never seen in a child her age.
Tears filled Kline's eyes. His lower lip quivered. The poor man looked like a beaten puppy as he pleaded with the girl. "But I helped you!"
Hunter jabbed a finger at him. "You also conspired with Systh to bring two unconveyed humans down here. You didn't try to stop him. You used—"
"Enough," the girl said, cutting Hunter off. "I swear your voice is as grating as his."
To my surprise the mayor nodded, albeit abruptly, and stepped back.
"Pussy," Frank said to Hunter. "I don't let my kids order me around."
I placed a hand on Frank's shoulder. To the girl, I said, "Hello. You must be the Green Queen. I've heard a lot about you."
The girl lifted her gaze to me. She had cold eyes, stark eyes, like the eyes of the maniacal dolls that had attacked Frank and me. I saw neither empathy nor compassion in them, only arrogance and utter, profound contempt.
"The puppy deigns to speak." She cocked her head to one side. Her innocent, little girl voice hardened to black diamonds. "Do it again and I will see your tongue is removed."
Couttis held up a cautioning hand. "Doctor, please. Don't say another word."
Frank drew a breath. I squeezed his shoulder before he could say anything and nodded at Couttis.
The officer turned his attention to the girl. "We've already had this discussion. I know how you feel, but we can't go ahead with your plan. It's an abomination, and it makes me ashamed." His voice softened. "Please, Kyly, reconsider going back to the original plan. There's no need—"
Conrad Hunter strode forward and struck Couttis across the face. The blow snapped the younger man's head back.
"Address her with the proper respect," Hunter said, his face even redder than Couttis's. "You more than anyone should be setting the example."
Blood trickled from the corner of Couttis's mouth. He wiped at it with the back of his hand. Then he laughed, his shoulders trembling with broken mirth. "Always the pet on a chain, eh Sarth. Tell me, when did you become her ally, her spy? Are you smitten with her, or are you simply hoping for a younger conveyance?" His eyes moved from Hunter to the girl and back to Hunter. "I believe it's the former. You desire her, yet you know you cannot have her.” Couttis stood a little straighter. "Touch me again and I'll kill you. Your mind will be lost forever. You will have made the trip for nothing."
On the ground, Cyrus Kline's face grew pale. Blood dribbled from his lips as he scooted away from the two men. The Green Queen remained calm, almost bored, her head tilted up as she took in the exchange.
I sensed Frank shift next to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slip a hand into his pocket.
The stun grenades.
I swallowed hard. Time to play Eagle Scout and be prepared for anything.
Conrad Hunter tensed, his muscles bunching dangerously. He had two inches and at least thirty pounds on Couttis, yet the officer seemed unconcerned: he stood calmly, his hand nowhere near his gun.
When Hunter seemed about ready to strike, the girl said, "Enough. Sarth, step back."
Hunter shook his head. "He can't be allowed to—"
"He is Parthol, and of a caste higher than yours," the girl said. "Unless I give you leave, you may not strike him again."
Hunter hesitated, his body trembling. I could almost see him weighing his options. Then the mayor reluctantly moved to the other side of the tent, murder etched into the creases around his eyes and at the corners of his downturned mouth.
The girl stepped up to Couttis.
"We may be related," she said, her voice too young for her words, "but do not think our relationship gives you immunity. My tolerance for mutiny is limited. Essentially, it's zero." She snatched Couttis's gun from its holster and aimed it at Cyrus Kline. The hipster issued a terrified scream and tried to scramble away. Without taking her eyes off Couttis, the Green Queen pulled the trigger, again and again, emptying the revolver into the hipster's body. Kline jerked, his blood splattering everything. Droplets hit the Queen's pale cheek. She ignored them. Holding the weapon out to Couttis, she said, "You will do as I say."
Couttis reluctantly took the gun and holstered it. "We were never like this, Kyly. You were never like this. I don't know why you changed, or when you did, but our sires would not approve. With this plan you demean us all, and in the process, our entire history. Better we'd died on our world than become that which we loathed for so long."
More footsteps. People rushed into the tent, their faces pale. "We heard gunshots," one exclaimed, a man in his early twenties with acne-scarred cheeks and wispy fuzz on his chin. Another rushed to Hunter's side.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Frank withdrew a stun grenade from his pocket and whispered, "Time to rock and roll."
Frank tossed the grenade at the girl. I barely had enough time to close my eyes and clap my hands over my ears before it went off.
Chapter Eighteen
People were screaming.
Light as bright as the sun flared inside the tent, momentarily blinding those unfortunate enough to have their eyes open. The explosion, over a hundred and fifty decibels loud, rendered hearing difficult and often caused brief episodes of disorientation. This time was no different.
Moments later I opened my eyes. Smoke filled the air. I searched for the others.
The newly arrived worker bees staggered as if hit by a cyclone. Couttis stood hunched over Kline's dead body, retching. Hunter rubbed his eyes, his jaw pulled wide as he tried to shake off the effects of the grenade. The Green Queen lay motionless on the floor, eyes closed, blood seeping from her ears, burns discoloring her right hand and arm. Her mind might have been old, but her body was still that of a four-year-old.
Someone fell heavily into me. I barely had time t
o catch Frank before he collapsed. This close, I could see his alien eye weeping a milky fluid.
He grabbed my shoulders. "Hurry, the effects won't last long."
Nodding, I hoisted Frank by the armpits and we stumbled out of the tent.
The cavern was eerily quiet after so much commotion. No one raced toward us. No alarm sounded. Emersville's missing residents continued to sleep peacefully, no doubt assisted by narcotics.
"Over here," I said, hauling Frank toward the back of the cavern. We passed cot after cot. Frank, his face a mask of anger, said, "What the hell is this?"
"In each person," I said, "a human and an alien share a brain. Both personalities exist as one. Obviously the alien mind is stronger, but maybe not always." We passed a boy of around ten. He twitched under his blanket, his face pinched into a frown. “There are hundreds of them down here.”
“Some should be waking up. God knows we made enough noise.”
“Drugged. All of them.”
“I don't get it,” Frank said. “Why go through the hassle?”
I thought of the coffee shop above us, and how popular it was. "Sleep,” I said in wonder. “What if their hold weakens during a deep sleep? Delta waves are strongest when we're dreaming. Maybe they disrupt the aliens' ability to maintain control of humans. It would make sleeping dangerous, but the human body absolutely requires rest.” I warmed to the subject. It possessed a logic I could understand. “This would explain the drugging—it allows the people to get the necessary rest, and the aliens don't risk losing their control."
Frank pushed to keep up. "Give it to me in plain English, will you?"
"Sleep deprivation," I said. "Go without sleep long enough and you become psychotic. If the aliens risk losing control during sleep, you would want to drug the people to keep them under control." I thought back to the man who had woken in a panic, and how the worker bee had put him back under by injecting something into him. "That has to be the answer. Their weakness is sleep."
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