by E. R. Torre
“The prospector leads the Sherriff of a nearby town to this strange object. Together they eventually get word to Virginia City of their find. Government officials, under a cloak of heavy security, examine the object. Afterwards, the object is boxed up and shipped off to Washington D.C. The Sheriff and the Prospector join government forces and scour the Blue Mountains for many more years, looking for any other metal men. Between 1929 and 1945 they find two more of them in this area. The metal men are in various stages of decomposition and are also crated up and shipped east. The government kept every one of these discoveries a secret.”
“Fast forward a few years,” General Spradlin continued. “I’m sure all of you have heard of Roswell. You’ve heard how a UFO supposedly crash landed there and how the government covered it up. That story was a creation of very fertile civilian minds. However, almost no one knows what happened in 1952, five years later. At that time, the Cold War was red hot and Congress had little trouble offering generous funds to support a number of top secret bases. One such secret military base was Blow Glass, located outside Sandy Hills, Arizona. The U.S. Air Force was testing what was, at that time, our most sophisticated fighter aircraft there. On the sixteenth of April, their radar picks up a blip of unknown origin. The blip was following a path that would take it straight over the base. The General in charge feared a Soviet spy aircraft and issued a red alert. A squad of fighters was scrambled. Their orders were to confront and bring the blip down. However, before a single aircraft took off, the blip sped up. The General feared an imminent attack and launched fifteen missiles at the unidentified flying object. As we were to discover much later, by sheer, complete, and total luck, one of the missiles brought that blip down.”
“The UFO fell to earth in three big, and thousands of smaller, pieces over five miles of desert. There was enough of it left for us to get an idea of what we were dealing with. The craft was automated, run by machines that looked very similar to those that popped up in the Arizona desert years before. So much so that our scientists confirmed they were created by the same…beings. We also found a few odd storage devices. After some five years of very hard work, we were able to uncover some of the data on those devices. The craft had indeed been collecting information about us. It criss-crossed the world many thousands of times in the three years before it was shot down. The fact that it was able to do this without us being aware of its presence was scary enough. Then came the information that made the higher ups really break out into a cold sweat. The machine had detailed information about our defensive and offensive nuclear and non-nuclear systems up to the date it was brought down. They had a complete list of our submarines and their general routes and a very complete inventory of our air and land resources. As bad as all that was, it was even worse. They had the same information about the Russians.”
“So here we were, in the early years of the Cold War, with an intelligence gold mine. Yeah, the information was five years old by that point, but it was far from useless. At any other point in time, you would have heard cheers coming from every U.S. officer stationed from the Pentagon to Alaska. But given extent of the data we found, both pertaining to the U.S. and to the Soviet Union, no one was in the mood to party.”
“There was only one reason to collect information on both sides,” Doctor Evans said. “The things behind the craft were creating an inventory of our strengths and weaknesses. Not as individual nations, but as a planet.”
“Our scientists figured out one other thing,” General Spradlin continued. “The automated flight instructions within the ship’s computer indicated it was scheduled to return to orbit and rendezvous at a point well outside of Earth orbit. Using extrapolation, we determined the rendezvous point was well beyond the orbit of Pluto and outside the confines of the solar system.”
“We pointed our most powerful telescopes in that direction,” General Spradlin said. “At first, we saw nothing. The days, then months and years, passed without another incident. Then, in 1972, we finally spotted them. They were so damn far away and resembled nothing more than a tiny blob of light. But we knew they were big. The size of their ship, or fleet, was roughly that of the moon. They gave off heat as well as light. Their engines were blazing. Their rockets were aimed toward us. They were slowing down. They were –they are– braking.”
“From that far away?” Becky said.
“The distances between systems are almost unimaginable,” Doctor Evans said. “To travel from one solar system to another in any reasonable time –and by reasonable I’m talking hundreds of years– requires incredible speed. Acceleration, like deceleration, must be gradual, or else the beings aboard the vessels will be crushed. Thus, it takes a great deal of time to slow your craft down in order to reach your destination intact.”
“Then what about the chameleons?” Samantha asked. “If the gravity of a hard stop is so bad to these aliens, shouldn’t the advance probes face the same forces of gravity?”
“They do, but the chameleons were designed to survive greater extremes of acceleration and deceleration, something their alien masters cannot. Perhaps that’s why they’re made up of the nano-robots. The pull of gravity may not affect them as much. Regardless, we tracked one of their ships as it broke orbit from Earth and followed it half-way to the armada. Based on the projected speed, we estimate they make the round trip there and back in six years, if needed. We have to assume they communicate via some kind of radio frequency as well.”
“So the chameleon makers have recent information on us?”
“Yes, and their alien masters are still on their ships, gradually slowing down and sorting through their scouts’ information. No doubt they’re preparing for their eventual arrival here.”
“How long before they’re here?” Samantha asked.
“They arrive in approximately two hundred and fifty years,” Doctor Evans said.
The words were followed by an uncomfortable silence. The members of the group looked at each other. Jennie Light rubbed her jaw and shook her head. Finally, no longer able to contain herself, she let out a laugh.
“Two hundred and fifty years?” she repeated. “We'll be dead and buried long before they're any real threat to us.”
“You’ll never see them,” General Spradlin agreed. “But your great-great grandchildren will. All of them will. Can you sit back and ignore the coming armageddon because you won’t have to face it?”
Jennie Light looked away from General Spradlin’s angry stare.
“I also want you to consider this,” General Spradlin continued. “Even though the threat is well over two hundred years away, our invaders are thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of years ahead of us, technologically. If we have any hope, any hope at all of a continuation of our species, we have to do everything we can to at the very least catch up to them. Otherwise, the human race is done.”
General Spradlin paused to let that information sink in.
“I'm not sure I get it,” Samantha said after a few seconds. “Why send the scouts planet side? Why not buzz the Earth from above, from the safety of outer space, and take whatever information they can and avoid the risk of discovery?”
“For the same reason we sent probes to the Martian surface instead of getting our data from the planet’s orbit,” General Spradlin said. “If you want to know what’s going on at the surface of a world, you have to be there.”
“They’ve also been known to perform sabotage missions,” Doctor Evans said.
“Just as our spies did during every major war,” General Spradlin said. “Make no mistake: The chameleons are doing their best to ensure we never develop into a genuine threat to their masters.”
“We’ve got much better technology than we had in the fifties,” Jennie Light said. “We must have found out more on the aliens or their fleet, right?”
“We’ve made strides,” General Spradlin said. “When the Hubble Space Telescope became operational in 1990, the very first thing we did was aim its cameras at the armada
. Unfortunately, our efforts were six years too late. In the spring of 1984 the armada went, for lack of a better term, "dark". At first we thought –hoped– they experienced some kind of internal catastrophe. Maybe they lost their power source or their systems had somehow crashed. We subsequently spotted more scout ships departing from the area the armada was last seen. These new scout ships were quicker and harder —but not impossible— to detect. The optimists in our government speculated that maybe the robots in the armada remained active, replicating themselves and continuing their mission on some sort of autopilot, despite the fact their masters were dead. The realists noted advances in the robot scout ships design argued the alien masters were not dead. The armada crew was adapting and evolving. They were improving their equipment.”
“Then how, and why, did they go ‘dark’?”
“The answer was obvious,” Spradlin said. “They infiltrated our government and knew we were on to them. When plans for the Hubble were finalized years before her actual launch, they knew they had to hide themselves. To that end, they made sure that once the Hubble was operational, it would be completely worthless as our eye in the sky. When we got our first pictures from it, we saw nothing but a star field where the armada should be. Subsequent photographs revealed a square black mass. It's just a guess, but we think the aliens created a black object, perhaps nothing more sophisticated than a thin metallic rectangle with a thickness no greater than that of an oversized kite, and positioned it a few thousand miles in front of them. At that distance, it directly blocks our view.”
“Like putting your hand in front of your face to hide the sun,” Samantha said.
“Sometimes the simplest solution is the best,” Spradlin said.
“How long have they been here, on Earth?” Becky asked.
“That's hard to say. The robot bodies discovered before and during World War II were very, very old. For all we know, those chameleon units might well have roamed America for hundreds of years before their internal energy supply gave out.”
“How long has this armada been coming?”
“For at least eight thousand years,” Spradlin said.
“Eight thousand years?” Becky repeated. “If we assuming these aliens are humanoid like us and live to eighty or so years, then the original group that took off on this trip would be long dead.”
“It is equally possible they developed some kind of cryogenic system that allows them to wake for brief periods whenever their scout crafts depart or return,” Doctor Evans said. “Maybe they spend a year awake, analyzing their data and making adjustments to their flight path while preparing their next scout missions.”
“Even if we were to assume the original crew of the armada is dead, the next generation of conquerors, and the next ones after them, has to proceed with their mission,” General Spradlin said. “What alternative is there? Earth is where the fleet is going. Our planet lies a mere two hundred and fifty years away. If, at this moment, they needed to seek another world, it would take them several thousand more years to reach it. Two hundred and fifty years, at this point, is like taking a short walk around the block.”
“Then we’re screwed,” Samantha said. “Two hundred and fifty years isn’t nearly enough time to get ready. By then, we’ll still be ants going up against a nuclear bomb.”
“Well,” General Spradlin said. “We have made some progress.”
“Since figuring out when they’re arriving, we’ve devoted considerable resources to intercepting the scout ships,” Doctor Evans said. “Six years ago, we did just that. A ship was intercepted over the Beauford Sea, some one hundred miles from Prudeau Bay, Alaska. The ship crashed down just inside the Canadian border, near the Porcupine River. We recovered the craft and its three inhabitants, all ACUs. They were in some kind of stasis and encased in glass-like pods. Obviously, we didn't dare risk letting them out, so we stabilized their pods and brought the whole thing here, to Bad Penny. We had already modified an abandoned underground laboratory and it was ready to house our captured specimens. The next six years were devoted to intense research on the ACUs. We have learned a great deal about the chameleons in that time, both their strengths and weaknesses.”
“Enough to get them before they get us?” Jennie Light asked.
“Let’s just say we have plenty of new information,” General Spradlin said. He looked at his watch. “Unfortunately, none of that information is particularly helpful at this moment and we’ve got more important things to worry about.”
Jennie Light let out a laugh.
“What?” she said.
“By now, three nuclear submarines have converged around Bad Penny. Regardless of whatever we accomplish here, in exactly one hour the entire island will be incinerated. My job, to see what’s become of the base, is done. This place is obviously lost. Our next step is to get to a radio and signal for a transport to come pick us up. We need to get the fuck out of here before the missiles fly.”
With that, a fragile feeling of hope and the dim possibility of escaping this nightmare was finally presented to the survivors of the Little Charlie. Becky Waters, Jennie Light, and even the very pale Frank Masters smiled. But General Spradlin did not. He remained sitting next to the injured pilot, his face grim and determined.
Samantha, too, did not share in the optimism. Even if everything Spradlin said was true, there were still things about the flight back to Bad Penny that didn’t make any sense at all.
“General Spradlin, I’m confused,” she said. “If your whole purpose in coming here was to look the situation over, why take us along? Why not put together a staff more experienced in dealing with those things? And why set off that explosive to bring my chopper down? Why not just order me to land in that clearing?”
General Spradlin didn’t answer right away. From the expression in the others of the group, they too were curious for an answer. After a few seconds the General nodded.
“Excellent question, Captain Aron,” he said. “There were reasons to set off that explosive. Good reasons. But as my grade school teacher used to say: Talking about things isn’t quite as effective as showing them.”
In a lightning fast motion, General Spradlin pulled his black blade from its holster and, to the horror of those around him, rammed it deep into Captain Frank Master’s chest.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Everyone was stunned by the General’s swift and cold blooded action.
Everyone but Captain Frank Masters.
His eyes surveying the black knife embedded in his chest. Despite what should have been an incredibly painful if not lethal wound, his facial expression displayed nothing more than curiosity.
General Spradlin’s right hand remained on the blade’s handle. After a few seconds, he exhaled.
“Stand back,” General Spradlin told the others.
They didn’t need to be told. The fact that Frank Masters was still alive, if such a term applied, despite the blade rammed through his chest, prove he was another of the creatures. And he remained alive because General Spradlin’s hand remained on the knife’s handle. The moment he released it, the blade would initiate its lethal electric discharge and Frank Masters would be incinerated.
No one spoke for several seconds.
“How…how long have you known?” Samantha Aron finally whispered. “How is this even possible?”
Frank Masters’ face remained neutral. He no longer looked sickly and weak. Color returned to his face and his eyes were alive and, as much as was possible for a machine, filled with what looked to the others like raw hatred.
“Stay very still,” General Spradlin told the mechanical pilot. “You know what happens when I let go of the blade.”
“What…what the hell is going on?” Samantha said.
“You asked why we sent your group back to Bad Penny and why we needed to disable the helicopter,” General Spradlin replied. “They were really good questions, Captain Aron. Your timing, on the other hand, could have been better.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The reason we disabled the helicopter was because we feared one or more of you were not what you seemed,” General Spradlin said.
He let those terrible words hang in the air for several long seconds. The remaining crew of the Little Charlie looked at each other.
“The chameleons are different from us in one other key aspect,” General Spradlin continued. “Their bodies are not terribly buoyant. They can float in water for only a few minutes before sinking. Once they’ve sunk, they have to walk along the bottom of whatever river or sea they’re in to get wherever they’re going. Unfortunately for them, if they’re fully submerged for longer than forty minutes, the nano-robots that make up their body lose cohesion. Prolonged contact with water discharges the electrical field that keeps their individual parts together. In layman’s terms, they dissolve. That’s why a little island like Bad Penny is such a perfect place to store them. It’s also why we have no boat dock and had to make sure the Little Charlie wouldn’t fly again.”
“But…but he triggered your bomb!”
“If he didn't, he would have revealed himself at that very moment,” General Spradlin said. “He didn’t want me to know. Not then anyway. Right Frank?”
Frank Masters did not reply. He remained perfectly still in the stretcher. His eyes were alien, cold and probing.
“But you broke your leg,” Samantha continued. “The blood?”
“It's not that hard for those things to make their outer organic membranes bleed on command. As for the broken bone and ripped flesh, the nano-robots within the chameleon’s body simply formed themselves into the shape and texture of shattered bone and changed their individual colors to approximate that of flesh. That’s how they fake serious injuries. A good doctor can tell the difference.”