by J A Stone
Warfell met eyes with Tawnee as they leaped from the cockpit.
“Strap in tight Captain,” Tawnee said as she turned left. Danica went right and crawled through the tube. How did she know I’m a Captain? thought as she found her seat. Brey’s voice came through the right ear.
“Robert, will you take the Navcom up here with me? Thanks. Ladies and gentlemen, uuuuuh, we will be leaving Aleuthian airspace shortly and at this time, uuuuuh I’d like to remind you to fasten your seat belts and try not to fight the inertia while we are still operating within the atmosphere—you can pull a muscle, ride with it.
“Port and Star gunners, we have twenty-two Federal Moorcraft armed with magnetic pulse cannons and attractors. The attractors can also pulse, which can damage Snowflake’s hull if they strike just right, sooo I’m gonna fly really crazy when we breech the building. As soon as I get half a click clear, I will leave them all behind, understand? Until then ya gotta keep ‘em off me.”
“Star is go,” said Tawnee.
“Port is go?” asked Warfell.
“Let’s do not go?” Bigfoot tried once more.
They went—Brey bringing the Vapor-7 aloft quickly with a deep hum from the lifters. With only eight-hundred feet beneath her, Fovea thrust the craft into a violent, twisting barrel roll…
Land and sky flipped about as Warfell watched the only thing remaining still—her imaginary calm flittering like a butterfly before her face, extending that tiny middle finger and darting away into the blurred spin...
The turret-pod gyroscopes finally kicked in and Warfell’s view field thankfully leveled off, followed three seconds later by her stomach.
Brey’s voice again, calm and reassuring despite what she was actually saying:
“Star—three degrees dorsal. Port—three and two.”
The transparent gunner-pod sphere produced a green-light grid, with each adversary’s hull outlined in red as the small ships entered and exited her visual field. Scope crosshairs moved wherever Danica moved her eyes…she centered on a ship and pulled the twin triggers.
‘Barump!’ was the feint sound and vibration she felt as Warfell watched the Federal Moorcraft explode and caterwaul towards the grasslands pluming white smoke.
“Good shot, first blood Port—target two degrees ventral, Star at four and two dorsal,” so calm the voice. Warfell heard Tawnee firing as her own target craft rose. She fired again, missing but catching the small ship clean on the second round.
“Hold on loosely everyone,” spoken as the Vapor-7 accelerated to incredible speed, pressing Danica’s body deep into the cushioned seat.
“I hate this part,” Tawnee whispered through the com.
“Oh my Gods of the…” Danica added with an involuntary smile as she moved her eyes down and the pod rotated to reveal her beloved Aleutha falling away. She glanced up and forward to see the Stars, Moons and mighty Ana coming to clarity like never imaginable. Something happened in Danica’s heart as joy replaced all else, touching her Soul with a sweet, rare bliss.
Tawnee stuck her tattooed face into Warfell’s tube. “You can come back up front now Captain, you okay there? It’s a rush isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is!” Warfell smiled, unclipping the retaining straps.
Up front, Bigfoot gave Danica the co-pilot chair with a warm smile.
“Two days to the inner territories,” Brey related, eyes still darting back and forth between instrumentations. “Thank you, all of you.”
“So what is the plan boss?” Tawnee asked. “I must return to your Father eventually as should you. The inner planets are not safe for long.”
“I know,” Brey reclined in her chair. “Dad wants me aboard Snowflake for the rest of this year. I’ll loop around wide and drop you off, just give me a little while.”
“No problem boss, I wasn’t saying,” Tawnee tried but it wasn’t necessary. Brey looked her in the eyes with the gaze of love. Warfell watched as the realizations formed. Oh wow, okay, she thought with a hint of jealousy peeking through her mind’s voice.
“Can we start with the monkey men?” Danica asked Brey in the galley, hours later.
“That’s Tawnee’s jurisdiction, babe?” Brey shot her browns to the side, addressing Tawnee behind her.
“Well,” the pretty woman with multiple face tattoos sauntered in, taking a seat. “The double helix DNA molecule is structured the same everywhere it has been discovered so far, at least in this Solar System. All living organisms have this molecule in the nucleus of each cell in the body—some simply have more books open.”
“Books?” Warfell.
“Yes, it’s like a library of every design needed to make an animal from turd to tip. Now, we have learned two things: One—all animals with backbones, the vertebrates, share identical structures and morphology. Two—all vertebrates can ascend to higher consciousness or self-awareness, intelligence.
“Explain?” Danica again.
“Simply put, Humans evolved on Earth from ape-like creatures. We evolved on Aleutha from lemur-like creatures, but in the end, the DNA molecules opened the same number of books creating identical organisms from the vertebrate physiology design. Humana seems to be an end-game of the biological processes in this Star System, at least as far as we thought, until four hundred years ago, when…”
Tawnee paused for effect as all three, even Brey, leaned forward, wide-eyed.
“Need to know only—you die with this—I am the Manager of Caelum Fovea.”
Everyone nodded.
“A foreign species of vertebrate with a triple helix DNA molecule landed on Earth by accident and stayed—still there as far as we know.”
“Tell her the other part,” Bigfoot requested in that deep bass voice and Tawnee shot her eyes to Brey. The pixie nodded.
“Actually, I can show you better, hold on,” Tawnee rose and walked to the living area, returning with a hand-held controller. Tawnee clicked and scrolled as images rose on a holographic screen—Warfell passed her hand through it and grinned.
“Here,” Tawnee said as three monolithic tetrahedrons, pyramids, appeared on the screen. They were white, red and black in color. Danica focused, realizing they were huge stone structures in the middle of a desert landscape with a twisting, lone river cutting through the dunes, running aside the pyramid monoliths.
“What is it?” she asked.
“That my friend, is the largest home science project ever made,” little Brey answered and Tawnee nodded.
Warfell had to know more—her look said it all, begging Tawnee to continue.
“From a nearby Star System, there were refugees, immune survivors of a disease having consumed their home world. They had an outlying colony, but their interstellar ark could not reach its destination, its architects failing to calculate for dark matter drag between star systems. Depleted of fuel, they were forced to land on Earth; a planet populated with a very early form of Humana.”
“The monkey men, humans, right?”
“Yes, just not as many books open yet—the natives are still cooking. Now, the Therians…”
“Really? Lizard Men?” Danica interrupted.
“Yes! We call them Therians. Anyway, they were marooned in a desert with enough fuel for one last flight—not enough to achieve orbit and leave. The indigenous folk embraced them as Gods, which the Therians used to cunning effect. You see, the colony they failed to reach had what they needed to make sure the virus would never leave their home System. Stuck on a mineral rich planet and at wit’s end, they improvised, and rather brilliantly I must emphasize. You’d think such folk would have discovered a way to quantitate dark matter by then.”
“So, it is a weapon?” asked Warfell.
“Yeah, damn scary one too, Brey?” Tawnee held a palm to her lover in this reality. The small beauty grinned, picking up the discourse.
“These crafty fuckers designed and built a massive sonic resonance refractor.
“Um, I only got massive out of that,” Danica had to sa
y.
“Okay,” Brey leaned in, “everything vibrates to a certain frequency—living, dead, doesn’t matter. If it has atomic mass, it vibrates ever so subtly to a pinpoint micro-pitch on the electromagnetic spectrum,” Brey searched the grate flooring for a second and then snapped her fingers. “Ever see a ballroom singer shatter a crystal wine glass?”
“Yes I have,” she replied.
“Well what she does is expertly tune her voice to the exact frequency of minute vibrations emanating from the crystal in the glass. This sends the vibration back into the mass emitting it, cancelling out the atomic bonds, causing the object to simply come apart at the seams.”
Warfell was not getting it.
“They matched the tune of their home world with a death-ray and destroyed it.” Tawnee answered.
“Wow,” Danica said. “So they saved the race?”
“NOOP!” Bigfoot shouted without realizing it.
“They brought the virus with them, of course,” Warfell leaned back.
“Yes, that’s the lycanthropic viral macrophage, the LVM,” Tawnee leaned back as well. “They are a resilient and resourceful people, but it’s making its way through the populace steadily. The virus attaches RNA strands to every cell, altering the existing DNA…”
“Turning the victim into a blood sucking Arenthian?” Danica interrupted, throwing it out there and damned if it didn’t stick true.
“That’s exactly why we shouldn’t be there,” Robert finalized. “Earth is a quarantined planet.”
Forty-two hours later, Danica awoke with a smile on her face and the soft sound of Brey’s voice in her ear.
“Warfell, you might want to see this partner.”
Outside her cabin, Robert stood in the passageway stretching his massive arms wide, touching the rounded ceiling.
“Good morning,” she said and walked towards the bow. Snowflake had three decks; the living quarters being level with the pilothouse. Danica stopped at the studio galley and grabbed a mug of tea, sipping the steaming brew as the incredible bay windows of the expansive cockpit surrounded her with Stars—and a planet!
“Wow,” she took her seat and set the mug down. “That’s Earth?”
“Yes,” Tawnee raised her eyes from the Navcom screen. “We are still half a day out. She has one Moon in a tidal-lock orbit, vast oceans much as Aleutha, mountains and forests; even some deciduous conifers identical to Aleuthian trees. Like Brey said, nature eventually opens equal amounts of books for some species. Wait til you see the indigenous peoples, they look just like us.”
“So we really are landing?” Bigfoot asked as he approached. “Really?”
“You can stay aboard Snowflake,” Brey said from the helm. “I have someone to see anyway.”
“You actually know people down there?” Bigfoot asked, piqued. Tawnee answered for her lifelong friend and love.
“Fovea Interest funded the Tiborean population and geological surveys. We have a secure facility in the northern hemisphere; one of the bigger labs used by the Sociobiologists. Our contact is Doctor Iris Grey. She and her small team maintain the facility, and provide military Intel on the Therians to Moor.”
“Iris is one of the Knights of Salvos,” Warfell grinned. Over the last two days, the tall warrior had extensively described her world, leaving nothing out.
“I remember you said,” Brey replied, lost in thought. On Warfell’s Aleutha, Iris was an Arenthian, an evolved species subsisting on hot blood alone. The consequential parallel had the pixie thinking rather re-thinking the true nature of Doctor Iris Grey, and the intelligence being transmitted home.
Warfell’s Reality, Fort Salvos, negative altitude 300 feet
“I’LL KILL YAAA!” Bigfoot channeled his fear through the skull of the nearest creature as he bashed away with his fists, having long since lost his cork-handled bat. Torpa, Warfell’s massive White Dane growled intensely at the enemy surrounding them.
Robert was in trouble. He was fighting well enough, but the big man was still petrified with fear. Next to him, Torpa ravaged the Therians—mauling the faces and sinking the fangs deep in the throat tissues. Bigfoot paused for a microsecond too long to think how strange it would be—using your mouth as a weapon, when a sharp tail cracked across his face and a short sword sank into his shoulder with a grunt.
They swarmed him, holding the big man down as a smaller creature leaped on top, lowering its scaly face next to Rob’s. Not far, Robert heard Torpa screaming and fighting like mad to get back to his friend. The lizard men formed a wall of muscle, blocking the enraged Canine’s path to Robert.
“Nows you diesss,” the creature whispered a hiss in Bigfoot’s ear.
It raised a taloned hand high and Robert gave it everything he had, ripping an arm free and thrusting the fist towards the lizard face only to be stopped and held by two sets of hands.
“WAIT!” Bigfoot shouted. “Do you know who I am?” Hey, works for the boss.
The creatures paused.
“We do,” a welcomed human voice came from a few paces away. Bigfoot thrust his eyes to the side to see, Torpa stopped struggling to look, and a dozen Therians snarled when Tom Snow and Logos Gravari shucked their weapons.
“SNOWMAN!”
Suddenly, as though he were an ocean wave, Bigfoot swelled with newfound courage, love and pride at the sight of Tom and Logo. He raised his hands, grabbing two reptilian snouts and bashing them together.
“RAAA” he roared, shoving several away and finding his feet once again. Torpa broke free and rushed to Bigfoot’s side as all movement stopped.
The Human and Dwarf were leveling firearms to the outstretched palms of everyone, especially Robert John Stone.
Not again, Robert thought.
“Don’t—shoot,” his voice cracked.
“You okay Bobby?” Snow flushed with worry.
“Aye, please don’t shoot,” the fear was returning fast and Bigfoot fell to his knees. Logos spoke from behind the barrel of his automatic shotgun.
“You have to trust me buddy, this tunnel is clear of aquifers and limestone. She’s solid granite with five pathways for sonic dispersal.”
“I don’t understand you Mister Gravari,” Robert was petrified with horror at the thought of being separated, again! The gentle giant began to cry and immediately Logos knew what was wrong.
“I am a Dwarf, Robert, born down here—you have got to trust me. Listen, you are affected by the fear now; the darkness has entered your heart and taken hold. I want you to close your eyes Robert. Put British and Danica there in your mind…you are arguing over the Chesterborne model twelve in the galley, remember?”
“I do,” Bigfoot smiled and relaxed.
“Good,” BOOM! BOOM-BOOM! The shotguns pealed and Bigfoot opened his eyes in shock and surprise, thrusting hands to his ears and eyes to the roof.
Fighting past the high-pitched ringing, Robert John Stone looked about to see all twelve of the strong Therians dead on the floor of the wide tunnel. Torpa pushed his body against Rob’s and Tom stepped forward with an outstretched hand to his friend.
“Come on buddy, we gotta find the girls.”
He barely heard, but fully understood.
Not far, British and Antigua recoiled from the shockwaves created by the flurry of gunfire. She instantly knew who it was as well, none of her team came with those high-powered shotgun repeaters—that was the Snowman and his sidekick Lo-lo.
“I’m gonna to bite his damned head off—c’mon girl,” she whispered to the crafty Dane and began crawling through the rubble towards her unwanted back-up team.
Much further away and closer to the dying body of Danica Warfell, Shadoweye found Emili Swift and Iris. They heard the distant gunfire but did not follow. Iris could smell Danica crisp in the stagnant air—they were closing in.
The Therians were everywhere at that level. Below four-hundred feet negative altitude the tunnels opened wide and smooth, and cavernous features were fewer, as were the water flows.
<
br /> “This is a road?” Tawnee asked Iris.
“Yes,” the Arenthian replied.
They fell back to the raw, less traveled tunnels to regroup.
Alternate Earth
Danica watched in fascination and wonder as Brey Fovea brought Snowflake down slowly, matching the planet’s orbital speed and descending in stages.
“The Vapor-7 can handle a plummet-entry no problem, but given the uncertain, possible hostile nature of the surface, she doesn’t want to attract attention with a heat plume,” Tawnee explained to Warfell who nodded, understanding only the words ‘problem, hostile and attract attention.’
The transparent, oval cockpit walls displayed a grid, outlining the atmospheric layers as Snowflake drew closer. The darkness of space was slowly replaced by the brightly illuminated white clouds and baby-blue sky.
“Where is New York?” Danica asked like a dolt.
“New where?” Brey replied.
“Never mind,” her question answered, the tall platinum haired warrior scanned the massive forests coming to eye-focus beneath them as the cockpit hull became clear, like fine glass. “Very much like home indeed,” she commented, noting mountains and deep green woodlands, deserts and open grasslands.
“Listen everyone,” Brey became serious. “A living Therian descendant has never been verified in my lifetime. There are the infected locals who hide in the shadows and hunt the populations carefully, but they are hard to spot in the open. Moor has suspected for a long time that the Therian species has died off, supplanted by the LVM virus. I intend to discover the truth of what is going on here and send a report back home to my superiors.”
“You would work for them even though they are after your head?” Danica asked.
“Always—it’s the right thing to do. Besides, I can’t sit still for long, all of you should know that by now. Okay before we disembark, pack heavy. Warfell, I have hand weapons—lots of them. Tawnee would you show her?”