by K. D. Mattis
While Harris continued to rock on his heels in excitement, he didn’t seem to notice when the show ended. Gibbs bent over and picked it up, grasping it firmly, trying his best to keep it extended away from his face. He studied it carefully in the moonlight. Unsatisfied, he pulled out his phone and used its flashlight to inspect the device more.
He was certain he was missing something. No matter how many times he turned it over in his hands, he couldn’t see anything on it, no indication at all that it was anything more than a metal stick. He stuck his phone in his teeth and tried to twist the ends just like his companion had, but nothing happened.
Extending it down toward Harris, he said, “Open it again.”
Harris shook his head without looking up. “It doesn’t work that way. Once it plays, that’s it. It took me a long time to figure out.”
“Which part?”
“They call it a beacon.” Pushing himself up, Harris grunted, exhausted. “They call it that because it sends a signal. Everyone with a Symbiant can hear its message. It’s…interesting. At first, I didn’t even realize I was receiving a message. It comes across as a natural thought, but more natural than that. It’s a truth that transmits. Once you realize that, it’s not hard to see how the Symbiants are controlled. They get a message, an instruction of some kind, and have to follow through.”
Gibbs stepped back, putting some distance between himself and the former pilot. He stuck the device in his back pocket. Reasonably satisfied that it was secure, he put away his phone.
“That’s the problem,” Harris continued. “The beacons call out. Draw you to them. Once someone activates it, anyone in the area gets the message.”
“What’s the message?”
“Usually?” Harris asked. “Usually it’s an instruction. To find some way to slow people down or to attack them.”
“Them?” Gibbs asked. He circled around Harris, carefully studying him.
“The Corps. Humanity. It depends on who set the beacon in the first place.”
“What about this beacon?”
“It’s instructions to find and kill family members of Space Corps officials.”
Wiping a bit of sweat off his brow, Gibbs continued to circle. “Why would you activate that beacon? Did you know what it would say? Did you want to know?”
Harris stood, his expression solemn. “Things had to keep happening while I searched.”
“Searched for what?”
“The source. The people sending the beacons in the first place. If they knew I found their markers, they would either change them or stop sending the beacons for a while. Maybe even move on to something bigger. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Harris turned back to the woods and started walking without direction. He mumbled to himself again and picked up the pace.
For a while, Gibbs followed. Every noise in the woods received spooked him until he found the source, usually a deer or a raccoon. He shook his head, disappointed in himself, and kept moving after Harris.
“I don’t understand,” Gibbs said, standing in place. “Why were those people in the barn? The Symbiants were killed. If the message affects all Symbiants, why would they do that?”
Harris stopped. “They’re like me, but different. They aren’t normal Symbiants. They were reprogrammed.”
“Why?”
“That’s why I called you, Commander.”
35
Back in her office, Asher pulled the yellowed envelope, now beginning to fray at the edges, from her desk drawer. Once again, she pulled the papers from within and spread them out across her desk. She read through the documents one last time. She had to be sure. Satisfied, threw everything back together and back in her desk before joining a team of people in the halls.
The halls were empty except for Asher and her group. The admiral moved with her heels clicking rhythmically against the hard floor. Each clack resonated down the hall, accompanied and multiplied by a small group of guards. They moved until she reached a viewing room barely large enough for the four-person conference table that sat within. Three doctors, dressed in their flat, green uniforms, stood to greet her. She took her seat and nodded to the guards. In turn, they stepped out of the room and sealed the door.
One of the doctors took that as his cue. He stood, turned off the lights, and flipped a switch on the wall. A grayed-out window became clear and allowed them to look inside an interrogation room.
“Ready on your order, Admiral.”
“Go ahead, Doctor.”
The doctor to Asher’s right pulled out a laptop and placed it on the table in front of him. The other, on her left, pulled a control panel toward himself. With the press of a button, a buzz sounded in the room, and the door opened.
Through the opened door, Asher saw five people proceed into the interrogation room. Once in, the door closed with a metallic thud as the locks re-engaged. By their insignia, it was clear that everyone in the room was a senior officer from the base. Everyone stood proudly and faced the one-way glass. While they couldn’t see anything but their own reflections, they seemed to look past the mirror.
“Three, two, one,” said the doctor with the control panel as he counted down. Then he hit a button causing a surge of electrical energy to release into the room.
The high-pitched screech of the device brought a wince over the faces of the men standing in the room. They looked over at each other, curious about what just happened.
“Gentlemen,” said the doctor by the window, who spoke to them by pressing the button of an intercom, “congratulations. You have been cleared to return to duty. Report to your scheduled station. Your teams will join you shortly.”
The door on the opposite wall opened, and a heavily armed guard stepped in, wearing full combat gear. He motioned his hand toward the exit. The men followed the order without question. When the door closed, the doctor monitoring the readings on his laptop stuck his thumb in the air, and the next batch of people entered.
Over and over, groups of people entered the small room, five at a time, and experienced the same electrical pulse as everyone else.
Asher watched on in silence. Only the constant tapping of her anxious heel against the floor reminded any of the doctors that she was there at all.
After several hours, enlisted personnel began to walk in. As before, five moved in, received the pulse, and then left. Until a group of sergeants walked in.
They entered just like everyone else, facing the glass just like everyone else. The doctor did the countdown and hit the button. The high-pitched pulse moved through the room. The man closest to the exit froze.
Curious, Asher and the doctors all rose to their feet and watched.
The man clenched his jaws. Almost imperceptibly, he began to tremble. The tremble gave way to full on shaking and brought a response of concern from the other men in the room. They turned to their colleague and stepped forward to assist.
“No,” said the doctor into the microphone. “Let him be.”
Looks of terror came from the other men, but they returned to their place in line while the man continued to shake. He looked over at them with wide eyes before falling over. He managed to break his fall with his arms, still hollering out in pain.
The exit door opened, and four guards stepped in, securing the fallen man. His arms, feet, and face were all bound to a stretcher. They gave the okay signal, and the doctor opened the door again to let a medic in to examine the fallen man. After checking the man’s vitals, the medic turned to the glass.
“He’s alive, and his vitals are strong. I suggest transport to the med bay for evaluation.”
The metallic lock released again, and the guards carried the man out of the room. Another guard followed in and waved the rest of the men through the exit, repeating the order to return to their workstations. The men looked at each other and complied without complaint.
“Admiral?” questioned the doctor by the glass.
Asher pushed away from the table with a smile
. “Keep it going. I want every single person on this base scanned. If they’re clear, release them back to work. If they test positive for Symbiants, I want them detained until further notice. If they resist, lethal force is authorized.”
A vibration caught Asher’s attention, and she pulled out her phone. Without answering, she excused herself and ran much deeper into the massive facility, past several layers of security. The halls filled with people. Most stopped and took notice of the admiral.
Turning the corner past two more guards and into the CIC, Asher snapped toward the lieutenant commander, “Status report.”
The woman turned and snapped a quick salute before raising her hands to the screens. “Sir, we’re receiving reports of explosions on Ambassador Station, Lunar Colony One, and all planetary bases. All Earth Defense Initiative member nations are reporting the same. Most concerning is an explosion on one of the boats carrying supplies to the space elevator. Rescue efforts are underway, but reports are that the ship will sink.”
Asher nodded and walked around the room, absorbing the massive amounts of data from the screens around her. The main monitors drew her attention most of all and showed the ship on fire and taking on water. Another monitor showed an explosion on Ambassador Station, blowing chunks of debris into space.
Asher winced. The images were too familiar.
“It’s a coordinated effort. Has the lockdown contained the damage?”
“It seems so. There are casualties, but most damage to infrastructure is, so far, superficial. We don’t have a count on the casualties yet, but reports are incoming.”
“Understood,” Asher said. “Contact Commander Cole. The Guardian is to meet me at the designated location. He’ll know where. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the woman said.
The pair exchanged salutes. A flurry of reports continued pouring in, and people shouted the short versions across the room. Requests for information were received and orders given in an organized chaos. Asher turned her back to the lieutenant commander and walked toward the exit. The instant she did, the lieutenant commander jumped right back into shouting orders and bringing a sense of control over the situation.
The caravan stretched out for nearly a quarter mile. The personnel escort vehicles near the front and rear of the caravan each bore a gunner at the top of the vehicle, in position and ready to take on any threats as they arrived. It pulled through a neighborhood, and two helicopters circling above announced their arrival.
Many faces showed up in the windows of the houses they passed. The few people brave enough to exit their homes were scared right back inside as a loudspeaker ordered them back in.
A single man standing on the sidewalk was the sole exception.
The caravan pulled up beside him, and four armed men jumped out and confronted him. They ordered him to put his hands on one of the trucks. He complied, only to have them frisk him. Once cleared, he was pushed back and had a metal box shoved in front of his face. A high-pitched scream came from the box. He winced but remained standing. The guards then opened a door for him and he entered one of the trucks. The caravan immediately set back into motion.
Inside the truck, he stared down the woman sitting beside him.
“That wasn’t funny.”
Asher patted his leg and laughed. “It’s good to see you too.”
“You said you’d send a vehicle.”
“And I did.”
Reynolds fastened his seatbelt and leaned his head against the window. The caravan turned out of the neighborhood, giving him one last chance to catch the stares of his neighbors.
“A fleet of cars isn’t a vehicle, Asher.”
Tossing a piece of metal in the middle seat, Asher said, “It’s Admiral to you.”
Reynolds shook his head in disbelief as he picked up his pin.
“No, sir. It can’t be.” He looked up at the admiral, waiting for a response. Seeing nothing but her smile, he said, “I thought for sure you would have heard. I missed my reinstatement hearing.”
“No, you skipped it,” Asher said with her face turning sour. “Not something I appreciate, by the way. But, given your help in creating the scanner, it seems fair that I look the other way.” She paused and straightened her posture in the seat.
“I don’t understand, sir,” Reynolds said as he twisted the pin to catch the sunlight.
“It’s amazing how much changes when we have an official declaration of war. Eventually, you’ll have to meet with the panel. Today, your country needs you.”
Wrapping the pin in the palm of his hand, Reynolds said softly, “Yes, sir.”
36
The truck jumped up into the air and slammed back down, forcing Ryan Gibbs and Robert Harris forward in their seatbelts. Gibbs let out a shout of excitement that drew a nasty look from his companion.
“You’re sure this is the only way?” Gibbs asked, pressing down harder on the accelerator.
“It’s a way, Commander. You can’t expect me to know if it’s the only way. I don’t know the area.”
“Maybe if you told me where it was—”
“Sorry, Commander,” Harris said, obviously still enjoying himself. One hand wrapped around the strap on the ceiling and the other around a partially unwrapped, store-bought sandwich. “I don’t know where it is. I just know we’re getting close.”
The train tracks on the left of the vehicle passed by at considerable speed. Given the growth of plants through the tracks and the splintering of the support braces under the steel, it was clear that the tracks hadn’t seen use for some time.
Gibbs split his attention between the barely visible path beside the tracks and his companion. No matter how big a jolt the holes in the path gave the vehicle, he never once saw Harris wipe the grin off his face, much less complain.
“Harris, are you sure you’re all right?”
Harris startled Gibbs with a piercing laugh.
“All right? I have an alien parasite in my brain, I don’t know how to get rid of it, and I haven’t slept in my own bed in so long that I doubt I have a bed to go home to. That’s under the optimistic assumption that I ever get to go home.” He stuck his finger pointedly in the air. “And, frankly, I think we both know that the odds of that are pretty slim. So, no, I think I can safely say that I’m not all right.”
They hit another bump in the path that caused both of them to hit their heads on the ceiling. Harris threw both hands on the dashboard and screamed with pure joy.
“But damn do I feel great! It’s got to be close!”
In the distance, a small brick building came into view. As it did, Harris could no longer control himself. Whether it was from pain or anticipation, Gibbs couldn’t tell, and he decided against asking.
“That’s it,” Harris said. “It has to be.”
Despite his obvious discomfort, he grasped his hands, twisting them together in a vain attempt to speak clearly.
The truck pulled up to the building. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious that the mortar between the bricks was cracked almost everywhere and that most of the roof had caved in. Some windows still held panes of glass, but those that did were the exception.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Gibbs groaned.
Harris looked over quizzically.
“Come on,” Gibbs continued. “This place may as well have been built as a cliché. An old train house, miles from anywhere?”
With a sigh, the pair exited the truck and climbed up the steep embankment. Their hands and feet sent countless rocks rolling away before they finally made it to the platform at the same level as the tracks.
Harris spoke with himself while they circled the outside of the building, checking for any threats. Seeing none, they returned to the front door, which hung off only one of its hinges. Gibbs opened it with a tap of his foot.
Inside, there was nothing but an old service counter. Light flooded in from above, so they searched the room quickly. While Harris went on talking to himself in a corne
r, Gibbs pried at every loose floorboard he could find. There were only four doors. Two for the front and rear entrances, one for a bathroom, and one for a small storage room. None contained anything of note.
Returning to the middle of the room, Gibbs turned to his companion while he holstered his pistol.
“Well?” he asked.
Harris didn’t respond. His attention focused on something out the window.
“What is it?” Gibbs pressed.
“The shadows…” Harris faded off before he took off running to a spot in the woods.
He hit the embankment and rolled down. Gibbs shouted out, thinking that Harris struck a rock at the bottom, but Harris jumped right up and kept running. Gibbs followed, using much more caution, sliding down the embankment after his companion.
Harris continued past the edge of a particularly dense patch of trees and underbrush, then just disappeared.
Gibbs blinked and rubbed his eyes to be sure they weren’t playing tricks on him.
“Harris?” he shouted, moving forward slowly with his gun drawn. He placed every step with intention, doing his best to process the situation.
“I’m here,” Harris panted in reply. “Come here. It’s incredible.”
Still cautious, Gibbs bent over and picked up a small rock. He tossed it in the direction of his companion’s voice. Sure enough, he followed its path until it just disappeared through a thick patch of underbrush.
“You’re safe?” Gibbs asked.
“Just get in here.”
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Gibbs stepped forward with greater speed. He didn’t want to give himself the chance to back out. He passed through the underbrush and found himself in a clearing with a small building and a tower. Over the door of the building, he noticed some writing that reminded him of what he saw inside the crashed alien ship in Brazil. Turning around, he saw the metallic glimmer in the air separating the clearing from the rest of the woods. It covered the space in a dome.