by Thomas Stone
Bobbi looked past Minerva at the thin man who looked like Bart before looking back to Fagen.
“What’s going on here?”
“I know this must be disconcerting,” started Minerva, “but this is a good thing. You’ll see.”
Bobbi faced Minerva. “You’re real.”
Minerva smiled widely. “I know, I know, isn’t it great?”
“Arai can speak and Bart is, well, skinny.”
Bart looked down at his torso and held out his arms. “I’m not skinny. Edward, do you think I’m skinny?”
Edward looked to Bobbi. “I’m still getting used to this too.”
“But how?” Bobbi asked. “How can this be?”
“Somehow, Harry managed it with the simulator he was working on.”
“A simulator? But that doesn’t make any sense. How can a computer simulation do all this?” Bobbi stopped short and looked slyly back to Edward. “Wait a minute. I get it. This is all an illusion, right? Okay, okay, the joke’s on me. So, let’s get back to work.”
“We are at work,” said Arai, “and, as extraordinary as it may seem, we are not illusions of our former selves.”
They all nodded in agreement. Bobbi looked back to Fagen. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to say,” Fagen said.
*
Ramey took a look at the digital readout on the data display strapped to his wrist. Half an hour until the end of his watch. The desert air had turned cold over the last two hours and he stamped his feet against the sandy ground. From his spot, he could see the other guards as they strolled back and forth across their allotted positions. Nothing unusual had occurred. In fact, other than the comm checks every half-hour, nothing had happened at all. Just another lonely midwatch.
Ramey knew what the mission was about. Major Denforth was good in that respect. He kept the troops informed. Still, knowing what they were doing -- searching for a space pirate and the fantastic spacecraft he stole from Braithwaite -- didn’t help relieve the boredom of a late night watch.
He walked by the foxhole and looked down at his sleeping partner. Vickers could sleep anywhere, anytime. The mark of a true professional. Ramey remembered the time they stood watch outside a pressure dome on Luna. Noisy colonial miners were on strike and threatening to take over life support systems, so Ramey and Vickers were told to don pressure suits and stand outside the entrance to the facility that housed the central oxygen tanks. Vickers slept inside his suit while leaning against the dome. In the low gravity, he remained in the same position for two hours. Sleeping in the bottom of a sandy hole was a piece of cake.
Ramey walked away from the foxhole and stood three meters from a perimeter outlined by insulated fence poles set into the sand every three and a half meters. A soft hum came from the transformer. It was old technology but it worked well enough keeping small animals at bay and providing a first line of defense.
A faint whooshing of air, like air jets caught his attention. Ramey looked out over the desert. Seeing nothing, he lowered his night goggles and flicked them on. The dark desert landscape lit up in shades of green. Ramey scanned the field of view, saw nothing, and lifted the goggles from his eyes. His motion sensor remained silent.
Ramey checked into the comm circuit. “What is it, Ramey?”
“Thought I heard something.”
“Like what?”
“Like compressed air escaping or something.”
“Nobody else reported anything like that.”
“Nobody?”
“Nope.”
“All right.”
“Look. Keep your ears on and call back if you hear anything again. OK?”
“Roger that,” said Ramey.
Ramey returned to the foxhole. “Vickers?” Lost in slumber, Vickers didn’t budge. Ramey squatted down. “Roy?”
Specialist Vickers opened his eyes and looked up at Ramey. “Is it time?”
“Yep.”
“Anything going on?”
“Not really. I thought I heard something a few minutes ago, but nobody else heard it.”
“Heard what?” asked Vickers as he yawned and stretched.
“Like air blowing out of a nozzle.”
“Maybe there’s an animal out there.” Vickers stood and looked past the fence.
“Maybe.”
“Anyway,” said Vickers, “I was having this great dream. I was in a party house outside Twenty-Nine Palms and we had these strippers...” Vickers climbed out of the hole and stretched again.
“All your dreams are the same.”
“I know,” said Vickers. “That’s why I like to sleep so much.”
Setting his rifle in the hole, Ramey stepped down and lay in the same spot Vickers had occupied only moments before.
Ramey adjusted his position, pulled his helmet over his face, and closed his eyes.
Vickers was still checking his gear when a powerful electric Snap! came from the fence. A flash of light accompanied the discharge and Vickers had a moment to realize that simultaneously, other sentry positions experienced the same event. A small, round object floated in the air where the fence had discharged. From the nearby foxhole, Ramey asked what was going on, but before Vickers could answer, another flash blinded him. The light was accompanied by an explosive force that incinerated the entire front of Vickers’ body and blew him backward into the hole where he landed atop Ramey.
Unfortunately, Major Denforth was also above ground at the moment of the explosion. Moments before, a trooper had walked down the ramp in order to retrieve food and water. The blast knocked him from his feet but, shielded by tons of plastisteel and sand, he survived. The ramp door slammed shut with an earth-trembling thud and the lifting mechanism with its series of gears and pulleys was permanently disabled. Bits of teeth from the gears broke off and shot across the garage floor. The initial blast lifted Denforth and threw him onto the sloping side of a dune twenty meters away. He landed in a soft spot and might have survived had not the only vehicle remaining above ground, one of the team’s desert rovers, landed atop him and crushed out the Major’s life
Havoc reigned for those underground as the complex shook to its foundations. Dust filled the air and ceiling supports groaned, but the structure remained intact and refused to collapse.
Behind the dune where Denforth’s body lay beneath the desert rover, a sleek, black ship appeared from thin air. The inhabitants of the spacecraft, no longer concerned about detection, switched off the light-refraction devices and allowed the ship to rise. When it hovered over the top of the dune, a section of the lower hull appeared to melt, and a ramp extended until its end rested on the sandy ridge. A moment afterwards, metallic, oval shaped creatures floated out of the opening toward the wrecked entrance of the complex.
*
While Bobbi and Minerva chatted like long-lost friends, Fagen paced the length of the control room, occasionally glancing at Bart to see if there was any news from the sensor scan.
“Sorry, Edward. This is taking longer than I thought.”
“They’ve got to be there. Where else could they have gone?”
Bart shrugged and turned back to the console.
“Why don’t you get cleaned up while you’ve got the chance?” Bobbi suggested. “Maybe a nap? We’ll let you know if anything happens.”
Fagen looked down at his clothes. He’d worn the same thing for days and was stained with dirt front and back. “All right,” he said. “I’ll take a break.”
He made his way down to his quarters while thinking about Harry and Kathleen. Harry was the reason they’d come to Mirabel in the first place, to save him from the changes he was going through. At first, it looked like Harry would end up like the others who had been infected, but the longer Harry was on Mirabel’s surface, the better he seemed to get. The planet itself seemed to supply Harry with renewed health. True, it wasn’t the old Harry. Rather, it was a new, improved version. He was stronger, immen
sely stronger, and faster, but most impressive was Harry’s new mental powers. Harry had always been smart and more than capable, but now, well, Harry was different from other men. Harry was no longer a Braithwaite man, no longer a company man. Harry was his own man now. Wherever he was.
Fagen peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The accumulated grime rinsed away as he considered his experience with Eli. What did Eli have in store for Harry and Kathleen? Were they still alive? Of course, they had to be. Whatever was happening wasn’t finished yet.
He toweled himself off and put on fresh clothes. On his way out, he looked at his bed and realized how tired he was but instead opted for an energy popper. He crushed the capsule between thumb and forefinger and inhaled the vapors. In moments, he felt renewed.
As Fagen re-entered the bridge, he saw everyone gathered around Arai’s console, all speaking simultaneously. Fagen asked, “What have you got?”
Everybody stopped talking and looked at him. Then they looked at each other. “Well,” said Bart, “the bad news is the scan was inconclusive.”
“What does that mean? Inconclusive?”
“We didn’t find any readings from either Kathleen’s or Harry’s beacon. There were, however, some grey areas in the matrix. Places where we couldn’t probe. They were too far underground or were shielded or...” Bart scratched his head.
“Or what?”
“Not sure. There were dimensional variations when we used an active probe.”
“What does that mean?”
“None of us is really sure. It’s sort of like probing a black hole. You don’t know where it ends.”
“Okay,” said Fagen, “the bottom line is: you didn’t find either of them.”
Bart didn’t say anything. Instead, he sighed and shrugged.
Arai fidgeted. “Ahem. There has been an event of some kind at the Braithwaite facility.”
“What sort of event?”
“An explosion. Quite powerful, very focused.”
Fagen bit his lower lip as everyone waited. Where were Harry and Kathleen? What had happened at the Braithwaite complex?
“All right,” said Fagen, “let’s return to the complex. We can come back to continue our search.”
No one spoke, but all knew Fagen was correct. Their disappointment was palpable. Harry and Kathleen were lost.
Fagen faced his team. “Let’s prepare for any eventuality. That means armor and weapons for everybody. Arai stays in the ship. Bart, ready to get physical?”
Bart grinned and flexed. “I’ve been waiting my entire life.”
Fagen did not smile in return. “Bobbi? Are you feeling up to it? We don’t know what we’ll find.”
“I’m good to go,” she retorted.
Fagen turned to Minerva. “Perhaps you should remain inside the ship.”
“Why? I’m part of the team, yes?”
“Of course. But this is different from operating in VR. When you get hurt, it won’t heal a second later. And there’s no coming back if...”
“I know,” interrupted Minerva. “I won’t take any unnecessary risks, I promise.”
Bart shook his head. “You’ll stay behind.”
Minerva began to protest but Bart held up a hand. “Edward is right. You don’t have your head around mortality yet.”
Minerva pressed her lips together in a stiff frown and folded her arms but said nothing.
“So,” said Fagen. “Let’s suit up. Desert gear and armor plating. Arai, how long will it take us to get there?” It felt odd asking Arai for data.
Arai did not turn away from his console. His tailed twitched as he calculated and watched his monitors. “Once we gain airspeed, nine minutes, but it looks like we won’t be leaving immediately.”
“Why?” asked Fagen. “What’s wrong?”
Arai shrugged. “Nothing is wrong. But we’ve got company.” The Bedoran backed away from his console and offered a clear view so the others could see for themselves.
The team peered at the exterior monitors, at the one display which focused on the mouth of the kitzloc cave. People stepped out in twos and threes, gathering at the opening.
“Who are they?” asked Minerva.
“Those who’ve been captured by the kitzloc,” said Bobbi. “I’ll bet some have been prisoners for years. Look. There’re Tobias, Lisa, and George.”
Bart sighed and looked at Fagen. “What are we going to do?”
“Pick ‘em up. Put them in the hanger bay.”
Bart looked back to the monitor. People were still coming out of the cave’s exit. “I hope we’ve got enough room.”
“Maybe Harry and Kathleen are among them,” said Minerva.
Arai shook his head in the negative and drooped his long tail. “If they’re there, they must be at the end of line.”
*
From his prone position on the dust-covered floor, Jennings looked first to Tringl who pushed himself back to a sitting position. Tringl looked back at Jennings and, in a manner picked up from Harry, stuck his thumbs into the air indicating he was all right. Across the room, still sitting upright in a corner with arms wrapped about his knees, was Penbrook. The old man shook his head and dust billowed. Young Ellis peeped out from under the desk where he had taken refuge. The door to the hallway gapped open and soldier’s shouts drifted through.
Luther appeared in the doorway;
“What’s happened?” barked Jennings.
“How the hell should I know?” replied Luther. “Felt like an earthquake to me.”
“It was not a quake,” said Penbrook from across the room. “It is an attack.”
“An attack? By whom?”
“Arm yourselves,” cautioned Penbrook.
“You’re crazy, old man. There’s nobody out here to attack us.”
Ellis and Jennings jumped to their feet and moved toward the door. Jennings pushed Luther aside and went into the hall with Ellis close behind. A soldier rushed past. Jennings asked, “What’s going on?”
“An explosion outside.”
“There ya go,” said Luther. “They accidentally lit off some of their own ordnance.”
“Causing an explosion that shook the entire place?” young Ellis questioned. “I doubt it.” Ellis followed Jennings up the hallway.
Luther hollered after him. “You’re just a kid. What do you know?” Luther glanced inside the room, saw Penbrook in the same place and Tringl approaching the open door. Rather than letting the orange alien come closer, Luther took off up the hall after Jennings.
*
Ramey woke to suffocating darkness, pinning him, paralyzing him, making it difficult to breathe. He attempted to move his arms but found he could only do so with great effort accompanied by pain in his neck and back. He wiggled his toes and discovered he could likewise move his fingers. Something pushed on his chest, a great weight that prevented him from rising and added to the difficulty of breathing. Sand ran down the side of his face, leaking into his eyes and mouth. In desperation, he forced his legs to move and twisted his torso until the weight on his right arm decreased enough for him to bend his elbow. He placed his right hand on the weight and pushed. Slowly, it gave way. As he pushed, he scissored his legs and the more he worked it, the easier it became. His right foot broke through and he recalled he was lying in the bottom of the hole he’d dug. He turned farther sideways and managed to snake one hand upward until it too broke the surface. Pushing the weight aside, he dug his way out.
Once at the surface with stars overhead, he lay exhausted from his efforts. Breathing heavily, Ramey turned his head and saw a length of uniform fabric, exactly like that he wore. Sand covered the remainder so Ramey reached over and brushed it off to reveal a military shoulder patch, the same patch he wore on his left shoulder. Gradually, it dawned on him it was Vickers who lay beside him and it was he who had been the weight atop Ramey.
Ramey brushed away more sand, gripped Vickers by the shoulder, and rolled him over. One look told him Vickers w
as dead. The entire front of his body was burnt and charred. Eyelids gone, Vickers’ vacant eyes stared unblinking at Ramey. Ramey released his lifeless comrade and eased him face down once again.
A sharp pain cut across Ramey’s lower back and he relaxed while lying face up on the ground. The air was cool at least and it blew softly as Ramey collected his thoughts. There had been an explosion, that much was clear. From the looks of Vickers’ wounds, it had been a nuke, albeit a small one or else he wouldn’t be there to consider the consequences. Ramey glanced down the front of his tunic at the sewn-in rad patch. It was green -- he had not been exposed to any radiation. That meant if the explosion was nuclear in nature, and Ramey was certain it had been, it was a clean, tactical device. But who would have such weapons on Mirabel? Certainly not the colonists. And Ramey’s force did not carry nukes.
As Ramey considered the question, sounds drifted to him on the breeze, sounds similar to that he’d heard prior to Vickers taking the watch: a whine like compressed air escaping from a pressurized space. With considerable effort and pain shooting through his back, Ramey flopped onto his stomach. The amount of sand blown into the foxhole was considerable and it practically filled the hole. All Ramey had to do to see across the open space to the underground entrance was to raise his head a little, which he did.
Across the open area, beings floated on the air. At that distance, it was difficult to judge how large they were, but Ramey calculated them to be approximately the size of a human. Yet, they were definitely not human. They were oval shaped and the sheen off their surfaces indicated a metal covering. Appendages dangled from the sides and attachments hung from encircling belts. Ramey wished he had his telescoping night shades but they lay buried somewhere at the bottom of the sand-filled pit along with his flechette rifle.
Whatever they were, they flitted about the area where the garage door was located. Past them, looming in the dark and blending into the night background, Ramey finally saw the ship. Not as large as the Braithwaite vessel that had brought Ramey and the other troopers to Mirabel, it was still big enough to be impressive. The craft floated silently in the air, something no ship from Earth could do. Alien technology, surmised Ramey.