Carrie would be amazed at that trick, he grinned ruefully to himself. Harry’s face didn’t show the effect of the slaps, partly because he hadn’t found time to shave for three days. His hair looked a darker shade than its normal mousy blond, also.
Gotta wash it before it all falls out! He grimaced at himself and glanced at his receding hairline in the mirror as the interior of his cab was illuminated by the poorly adjusted lights of a passing sports car. He promised himself a decent night’s sleep and a long, hot shower at the next stop.
His brown eyes were bloodshot and the lines around them made him look older than he really was; they were just one of the indications that his past had been rough and wild.
But that’s over with, now, he promised himself once again, trying to put out of his mind the image of the waitress with the tight jeans and low-cut tee-shirt that had served him with more than casual interest at the last cafe. Now I finally found a decent woman, one who doesn’t move out while I’m on the road. He glanced at the photo of Carrie stuck to the fabric next to the sun-visor and winked at it.
Harry’s past included three such women as that sleazy waitress, but of course he could hardly be considered faultless in those instances, either. Now he actually had somewhere that he could call home. Admittedly it was small and quite old – a bit worn and certainly well used, but so was he – it was the best home he had had for, well… he preferred not to count the years. Carrie kept it nicely, skilfully covering old couches and armchairs and wallpapering over stains that paint would not cover, and she was so busy with her craft business that she was able to handle his long absences quite well. He knew now, after three years of marriage, that she would still be there when he got back.
His anti-sleep tactics didn’t seem to be working, so he opened the window and let the cold night air fill the cab. The roar of the wind and the rattle of the lowered glass in the door made a welcome change to the dull rumble from the Cummins Big Cam IV he had been forced to endure for hours before, but soon he started to shiver, so he wound the window up again.
Uncle Jack’s house would be perfect as a craft store. He always said I should buy it-- said it would be good for me to get out of downtown. Harry chuckled. It wouldn’t do old Jack’s bank balance any harm, either; it’d probably give him enough money to retire to Florida. He changed down to eighth gear as the incline increased.
Harry felt the steering go light, then the cab lit up like a thousand-watt bulb. Instantly, darkness returned, only this time it was absolute, as his vehicle’s engine and lights were dead, too. Harry hit the brake pedal automatically, as he could barely make out the road in the instant gloom, but the desperate pressure caused it to sink effortlessly to the floor, where it stayed. The rear end of the cab rose rapidly as, unknown to him, the trailer was pulled upwards into the monstrous black shadow above it, and somehow he was upside-down, then tossed from side to side as the driver’s compartment flipped over and bounced off the road.
I guess I’ll never make –
From forty thousand feet, as his ship accelerated rapidly into the upper atmosphere with his assistant, Harnak at the controls and its stolen cargo safely stored within its cavernous interior, Varshak observed calmly as the Peterbilt tractor, severed now from its trailer, slid off the road and tumbled down the steep ravine to smash into a huge rock at the bottom. When nothing further happened, a slight frown crossed his wide face. He manipulated a series of controls on the complex panel in front of him as the black bulk passed seventy thousand feet at an ever-increasing velocity.
The night sky was pierced again as though by a white-hot needle, seemingly dimming the more constant stars.
Varshak nodded to himself with satisfaction as the needle connected with the cab and it burst into flames.
Inside the huge black ship, a refrigerated trailer full of frozen vegetables, meats, T.V. dinners and ice-cream began its history-making trip to a new kind of exclusive supermarket for three, run on very strange lines and located a considerable distance beyond the territory so recently crossed by the frustrated truck driver known as Harry Paxson.
***
Ed Baynes watched until the computer indicated the last page of his coded transmission had been sent, shut down the system and threw his dressing gown onto the wickerwork chair by the window. He climbed wearily into his queen-sized bed, satisfied that he had included all the details of the abduction from Terry Stadt’s cruiser, Getaway, into his report. His superiors would be able to study it first thing the next day, if they felt there was nothing else more important to do.
Maybe finally they’ll realize the usefulness of this department, instead of sniggering at things they don’t understand and hiding behind their prejudices like Flat-Earthers. He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the cottage cheese ceiling. The house was quiet. The only sound that could be heard was the occasional car or truck passing the end of the short lane he lived on – a faint sound, but still discernible in the intense silence that had descended. Ed found himself still thinking about the mysterious Aliens that had abducted a famous scientist, his wife, and a wealthy business tycoon.
Gone, probably forever. Inevitably his thoughts turned to his wife and three children, dead these past five years. The youngest, Christine, his only girl, was the same age as his sister’s oldest daughter, Amber. They had been good friends – no, more than that, they had been inseparable, crazy nine year-olds, giggling and whispering, supremely confident of themselves, so certain of the ongoing sameness of life, and of their intertwined lives. They could almost have been twins. Ed found he could imagine his daughter, as she would have looked at fourteen, had she not been killed. She’d have looked so much like her mother when I first met her. He rolled over and stared at the red light-emitting diodes that formed the display of his clock radio. The colon between the numbers blinked incessantly, insufferably; he let his eyes slip out of focus, causing the flashing points to blur into blobs. On… off. On… off.
Baynes had somehow escaped from the wreckage of the Cessna with only cuts and bruises, a broken collarbone, and the determination to get NUIT organized. He was quite convinced that the accident had been caused by the Unidentified Flying Object that he thought he had seen alongside them as he had nursed their little plane through the thundercloud, so he had used all his contacts to get the support he needed to make his plan a reality.
At least I succeeded in that, not that it changes anything. Now I know ‘they’ are really here; no one is safe anymore. He wondered how he could hope to organize an effective defence against beings that could instantly and effortlessly blast a ten-inch hole through anything from nine miles away.
Perhaps I was lucky when my family was killed; at least they died quickly. Maybe Amber and her parents and little brothers will suffer much more. He sat up, finding that sleep was eluding him.
“Never could sleep this early,” Ed muttered. He resolved to do what he could to protect the people of Earth, no matter what the cost. He wrapped his dressing gown around himself again and walked slowly down the stairs and through the empty house to the kitchen, where he got himself a beer from his rather generous supply in the refrigerator.
Why did I keep this house? The memories are too painful. They’re not coming home. Not now, not ever. He pulled the ring back and took a long swig.
A little later, when Ed was sitting at the kitchen table, contemplating his third beer and trying to ignore the inescapable conclusion that he would continue drinking until he passed out, the phone rang, breaking the painful silence like a shout of hope.
“Yes.” Baynes listened, his expression suddenly intent as he realized the significance of the caller and his message. “The radar surveillance idea worked! What do you know! Details? Fax it all to my car phone… Get me the fastest transportation you can arrange… Yes, I know; I think they’ll authorize it if we hand it to them as a ‘fait accompli’.” He smiled a little lopsidedly. “Well, take French lessons, then!”
Another pause, fol
lowed by a wide grin.
“Fraser, even if I did know a pretty young French student teacher, I wouldn’t tell you her phone number in a million years!”
Ed hung up and walked back across the kitchen. His newly opened third can of beer sat on the wide expanse of milky-white table next to the pair of empty cans – he could imagine it slyly beckoning him back. He picked it up and looked at it for a long time, noting the condensation covering the outside, almost to the top, then he walked to the sink and poured it slowly and deliberately down the drain.
Chapter Ten
The moment you think you are superior, you prove otherwise – Penchetan
Four and a half hours had passed since Ed’s drinking binge had been interrupted by news of another ‘NUIT’ style incident. He had used a combination of genuine authorizations that had been included in the National Unusual Incident Team’s ground rules to give his organization the appearance of teeth, and favours from old friends in the military, to expedite his trip to the crash site.
Baynes arrived at the scene of the ‘accident’ in grand style, having been transported the last few miles in an angular and deadly-looking Apache helicopter, where he found himself up front, in the co-pilot / gunner’s seat, with a startling view ahead into the night, or at least when there was sufficient light to see anything. It dropped him off on the grassy slope next to the rather motley accumulation of vehicles that marked the spot, and disappeared into the inky blackness moments later with a scream of arrogance from its high performance General Electric 1890 horsepower gas turbine engines. Ed looked around, giving his eyes time to adjust to the lights from the police cars that were keeping the small assortment of night-time travellers at bay. As well as the officers who were directing traffic, several policemen were standing together in a huddle by a tow truck. Ed put his notes back into his inside jacket pocket as he started towards them.
One of the state troopers came over and stuck out his hand.
“I’m Craig Noble. You must be Mr. Baynes.”
“Guilty!” Ed nodded. “Ah, just call me ‘Ed’. This shouldn’t take too long, Craig.”
“I was hoping you’d say that; I’ve got a crew waiting to fill in the damage right now.” He pointed at the dump truck situated a few yards beyond the last set of flashing lights.
“Let’s just see it,” Ed suggested shortly. He followed the officer past one police car, switching on his powerful flashlight as he walked.
“This is it, sir.” Craig illuminated the damage with his own light.
Baynes swung his beam along the fourteen foot long, eight foot deep slot in the road, leaned over the edge a little and whistled as he realized the implications in terms of power required to vaporize soil, rock and tarmac to that depth.
“That’s what I did, after my car bounced like it wanted to take off and then came down with both front tires burst. I slid to a stop, climbed out and walked back to check out the cause.” Craig gestured at the crumbling asphalt with his light, showing where his wheels had crossed the intervening space.
Ed pulled out a small plastic container and, with what looked to Officer Noble like some very large tweezers, crouched down and selected a snack-sized portion of the crumbling road surface and transferred it into the sealable box. He stood up again, reached back and slid his camera forward on its shoulder strap, then ran off a series of pictures from various angles. Looking closer, he determined that the cut had been made from left to right, as it was not perfectly perpendicular to the direction of travel, but progressed forwards about a foot from one end to the other. A hasty mental calculation gave the startling conclusion that the time taken to separate the trailer from the tractor was about a hundredth of a second. In the centre of the slot there was a smaller section where the depth was greatly reduced. This must be where the beam did its real work, cutting through the metal. Ed turned to the officer.
“I’ve got what I need now, Craig. They can proceed with the repairs.”
Craig Noble waved to the occupants of the dump truck, and it started backing towards the trench-like cavity with a heavy rumble.
“The cab is down here a ways.” Craig led Ed some distance down the road, then they climbed cautiously down the steep ravine to the still smouldering wreckage at the bottom.
Baynes scrambled around the crumpled cab, dodging the foam and pools of water as best he could and wondering how anyone could have survived such a drop. He fingered the clean cut in the frame behind the cab where the surgically precise separation had been performed.
“We’ll send a wrecking crew to collect this tomorrow, or later on today, I mean.” Several more flashes lit up the area as he recorded the remains from both sides. He spotted a lesser groove, only a few inches wide and deep, cut into the ground and traced it to the point where the fuel tank had once been located. Two more flashes accompanied the process of visual note-taking, and Ed stepped back, satisfied.
“Thanks; that should do it.”
Craig Noble led him back to his borrowed car. As they passed the repair crew, they were greeted by the rattle of thousands of small stones. Gravel already filled most of the slot to a point about three inches below the surface; the team levelled it out with a couple of planks and prepared to finish the job with cold-fill asphalt.
“What’s this all about, anyway?” Officer Noble inquired somewhat vaguely as they climbed in. He turned off the rotating emergency lights and started the engine. “Or is there some kind of security involved here, Ed?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say, Craig. Just file a report in writing to NUIT and leave it at that. National security would be at risk if this were publicized, but now the hole is filled in, there shouldn’t be much difficulty down-playing the entire matter.”
They drove on in silence for about ten minutes until they saw the small country hospital sitting proudly amongst the carefully manicured lawns. Ed got out of the police cruiser and thanked the officer for his assistance, assuring him that he had made arrangements for transportation when he had finished, and implying quite strongly to Craig Noble that his presence was no longer either required or desired.
As Baynes walked into the hospital and asked for directions to Harold Paxson’s room, he thought over the facts he had collected so far. There was very little to go on, just the spectacular slot in the highway and the severed remains at the bottom of the ravine. Perhaps an even more potent laser than... Coincidences always bothered him – what did they mean? More proof of connection, or just that – a coincidence, with no relation to what he’d seen so recently. And there’s differences – this one seems adjustable, too. He thought about the damage to the rocky ground around the burned-out cab. There had not been much for him to contemplate that he had not previously been made aware of by his hasty reading of the sheets faxed by his communications officer, except perhaps the time factor relating to the severing of the trailer, and the reduced power level and beam width used to explode the fuel tank. He concluded that there had to be a connection to the abduction of Professor Hardy, but stopped short of deciding that both actions were definitely performed by the same assailant or assailants; the laser characteristics were similar, but the technique used in this latest ‘incident’ was quite different from that when the Getaway and the USS Chicago were hit.
About ten inches wide, that’s fairly persuasive. And, of course, the disappearance of the trailer into thin air with its cargo of frozen food. Very necessary for keeping your captives alive. Ed realized he was incredibly fortunate to have ever heard about this latest occurrence. By all accounts, Harry Paxson should have died, and if it hadn’t been for the accident which had occurred a few miles up the road, no one would have seen the brilliant laser light searing through the atmosphere, closely followed by the explosion of the truck’s fuel tank, and the strange radar results might have been filed away with other, similar results from years gone by, and labelled “due to atmospheric effects”, or simply ‘weather balloon’.
Baynes waited for the elevator, his spiri
ts lifted by the fact that NUIT had been notified. That’s twice now that the system has worked! This time was even quicker! Ed was gratified; he had always felt that his organization would come into its own someday. Deep down in his subconscious he also had an extraordinary sensation, a reprieve almost akin to a stay of execution, as the phone call from his assistant, Leroy Fraser, had come in time to persuade him to stop his drinking bout before it really got started.
Putting this aside and assessing his discussion with Craig Noble, Baynes concluded that he had not learned much from the officer who had observed the brilliant light beams from the multiple collision site and had driven over to investigate; all he could do was provide confirmation that a super-powerful laser had been used and point out the approximate location of the light as seen from the site of the multiple pile-up. And of course, he did guide him to the damage in the road and the location of the burned-out tractor.
Baynes stopped at the nurses’ desk and, after a somewhat protracted discussion, obtained permission to enter the intensive care area. Following the directions he was given, he went down the corridor and checked the room numbers on the wall to his left, until he found the correct one, and walked in. He looked at the pile of casts and bandages in the hospital bed, searching for a portion of patient that was undamaged. The staff nurse had been reluctant to let him talk to the incredibly fortunate survivor, but, as usual, Ed’s powers of persuasion and his official status and authority won out in the end. He walked over to the bed; as he approached, the partly bandaged face of Harry Paxson became visible over the sheets. The head moved slightly as he stopped at the bedside.
Ascent Page 11
