by Eliza Green
A pain blazed through his bone when it connected with the hard surface. ‘Christ—’
He continued to pound on the lock, softer now.
‘Please open...’ Panic gripped him first, followed by a strange calm. This was the end.
He turned on his side and closed his eyes, resigning to his fate.
Isla shouted at him to ‘Get up!’
Bill tried, even though he had no strength left. Nothing but a feeling that his lungs might implode any second. A tear landed on his hot cheek. He left it there.
A blast of cool air revived him. He sucked in a new breath, like he was reclaiming his soul.
Somebody pulled him free from his unit.
His head hit the floor with a thud. He barely felt the sting as he swallowed another lungful of sweet, oxygen-rich air. In the dark of the sleeping quarters, a figure stood over him. Cool fingers rested on his neck. The man spoke low to another in the room.
‘His pulse is strong. They all seem fine now.’
Bill blinked to focus better on the men’s faces. But when he opened his eyes again, in that short moment, they were gone.
He sat up slowly, fighting against the new throb in his head. That’s when he saw the others—nine, he counted—lying on the floor.
The wall propped him up. He looked around the room trying to make sense of what had just happened. Bill crawled forward and checked each body for a pulse. They were all alive.
One man was staring up at the ceiling.
‘What happened?’ Bill asked him.
‘I couldn’t breathe. The lock was stuck. If it hadn’t been for those two men—’ He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly.
When enough dizziness subsided, Bill walked the halls in search of someone in charge. He found a senior officer and flashed his World Government credentials. The officer rushed to explain the situation, with obvious embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry, sir. There was a power failure in Section Seven, where your unit and fifty others are located. The situation is now under control.’
‘How the hell does a ship this size get power failures?’ Bill winced when he touched the golf ball-sized lump on his head.
‘Normally the back-up power supply takes over, sir, but because it didn’t engage immediately, the computer shut off the oxygen levels to that area.’
‘Surely the computer detects when someone is occupying the sleeping quarters.’
The officer’s face reddened. ‘Normally, sir, but the computers on board this ship are designed to save power, not to detect life on-board.’
‘So, when the computer knocked out the oxygen to that section, the sensors locked the units so we couldn’t escape?’
‘Not quite, sir. The sensors assumed they were unoccupied and initiated lockdown to prevent tampering with unused units, sir.’
Bill shook his head. ‘Well, if it wasn’t for your officers, we would have all suffocated in there. Please thank them for me. I didn’t get a good look at their faces.’
‘Sir?’
‘Your officers,’ said Bill.
The man stared at him. Then he answered in his best military tone. ‘Of course, sir. Immediately.’
A stab of pain shot through his tenderised elbow and he winced.
‘Do you need medical help, sir?’
Bill began the walk back to his sleeping quarters. ‘No, I’ll be fine.’ He trusted doctors as much as he trusted Charles Deighton.
He returned to his room to see the floor was clear and his sleeping pod was still open. He shuddered at the sight of it.
His weird dream moments before he woke came back to him. Something about it and his near-death experience made him want to review the last video he’d watched. After snatching up his DPad and kicking the door closed, he sat on the floor with his back against the wall.
Bill started with the video he’d begun watching a week ago, but had lost interest in. It was the one of the officer being interviewed about an animal disturbance near New London’s border. He hit play, skipping over the parts that were still fresh.
‘Eyes fixed on me before looking away.’ The officer stared at the wall behind the interviewer. ‘I heard the animal. It sounded like it was injured. But when I got closer, I couldn’t believe what I saw.’
The interviewer asked, ‘What was it?’
‘Two boys, crouching over what I think was a wolf. The smell of blood turned my stomach. There was so much of it.’
‘So you’re saying they killed the animal. You were right to report this illegality. The biodome animals are protected.’
The officer shook his head and whispered. ‘No, you’ve got it all wrong. They didn’t just kill it, they were eating it.’ He drank from a cup of water in front of him. ‘I thought the attacker might have been another animal because of its body contortion, its reflective eyes, and its interest in the wolf. I couldn’t retrieve my Buzz Gun without attracting attention to myself. While I waited for back-up to arrive, I moved in closer to try to corner it and make the catch a little easier? But that’s when I saw something that chilled me.’ He swallowed hard.
‘Saw what, exactly?’
‘It looked at me and smiled. Smiled, for God’s sake! I mean what kind of animal was it? What creature of God’s making looks and acts like a wild animal, then takes time out of its killing spree to flash its pearly whites at me?’
The interviewer sat back in his chair.
The officer continued. ‘I felt a rush of cool air pass right by my face. We caught one bastard but the second one escaped.’
‘They caught one of them. That’s good.’
But the officer was shaking his head. ‘There’s nothing good about this. Have you even seen what these vile creatures can do?’ He closed his eyes. ‘I never want to find out.’
The video stopped. Bill stared at the floor.
Why had he overlooked this crucial piece of information? The government had caught one of the Indigenes before. He checked the time stamp. The interview was a year old.
Why? Because his obsession with finding Isla had blinkered him. All Bill had cared about was finding her. Tracking the Indigene, confronting him, learning of her location.
He’d done all that and he was no closer to the truth.
Bill should have been looking for clues to the aliens’ behaviours and mannerisms. His job was to profile criminals—learn their habits so he could trap them. Well here was the information, right under his nose. He searched for another file he’d skimmed over. It was one that followed soon after the creature had been captured. A video called Initial Examination of Species 31.
Dr Frank Jameson, a physician working for Bio Technologies according to the accompanying notes, took the lead in the video. Bio Tech was listed as a World Government subsidiary on Earth specialising in genetic manipulation therapy and disease control.
The doctor was using a roving camera to record events through subject motion-tracking. While the laboratory’s interior appeared sparse, a file note said the New London-based laboratory had been kitted out with high-end equipment just before the examination. The request had been approved by Charles Deighton.
Dr Jameson looked into the camera as two colleagues entered the room. All three wore white boiler-suits. He flipped up the hood and pulled the drawstrings closed until it puckered around his face.
Bill felt the palpable excitement on video as Dr Jameson introduced Doctors White and Henshall. To the left was a small workstation where one of two assistants sat at a research monitor. A stainless-steel shelf ran almost the full length of the back wall. A large sink took up almost a quarter of its length. To the right was a tray with various cutting tools, including a laser scalpel. Off to one side, Bill saw what looked to be a flexible membrane containment unit, with an examination table inside.
Dr Jameson gestured at the unit. ‘We are able to control the containment unit’s gaseous composition through our workstations. For the purpose of explanation, we can pass through safely without breaking the s
eal or compromising the atmospheric configuration inside. The membrane has tiny memory particles scan our security chips to allow entry and exit from the unit. Mostly used for infection cases and detainees, today we will use the containment unit for both.’
Moments later, one assistant wheeled in a young male Indigene inside the containment unit. Dr Jameson entered first followed by the two doctors. The roving camera hovered above the examination table. Bill zoomed in for a closer look.
Dr Jameson spoke. ‘Species 31 will remain sedated until we are ready to wake it. We haven’t altered the gaseous composition inside the membrane, as it seems the alien can breathe our air. We will wake the alien soon, but we don’t know if it can understand us, or whether it speaks any language. How useful the information will be from Species 31 is anyone’s guess.’
Bill studied the separate 3D body scan of the Indigene, which compared physically to that of a twelve-year-old boy.
When the roving camera focused on the young Indigene, a flicker of movement caught Bill’s eye. It wasn’t until the Indigene’s breathing pattern changed—from long even breaths to short sporadic bursts—that the doctors also noticed.
Jameson turned to Dr White; the camera mirrored his movement. ‘How much sedative did you give him?’ White threw out some numbers, to which Jameson nodded. He spoke into the camera, but his eyes were on the alien. ‘We have given Species 31 a dose designed for a human, but we can’t tell if it’s too much or too little.’ Jameson turned to Henshall. ‘I think we should wake it.’
The female doctor prepared a syringe filled with liquid. The roving camera focused in on her nervous face. She explained, ‘This solution will counteract the administered sedative.’
White monitored the young Indigene’s heartbeat, which registered at thirty five beats per minute, according to him. It continued to breathe in uneven, short breaths.
Dr Henshall tied a piece of rubber around the upper part of the Indigene’s arm and pulled it tight. She slapped the arm in several places.
Her wide eyes found Jameson. ‘I can’t find a vein.’
‘Just use the same one as before,’ he said.
She examined the arm and pulled in an extra source of light to help. ‘There’s no evidence of the original entry point.’
‘Then just guess.’ Jameson tapped his finger in the crease of his elbow. ‘Insert it here.’
Bill zoomed out just as Henshall made her attempt. The titanium needle broke twice. On the third attempt, she pierced the skin. It took less than a minute for the young Indigene to stir from its drug-induced sleep. He blinked its eyes open, but squeezed them shut just as fast, straining against the harsh lights.
‘Dim the lights by two-thirds. Now!’ Jameson was breathing hard. That made Bill nervous.
The laboratory plunged into near-darkness and took on a more sinister look. Bill zoomed in on the young Indigene. He opened his eyes again, this time appearing more comfortable with the lower level of light. He looked around in confusion.
‘The alien’s eyes seem to be photosensitive. See the lack of pigment here?’ The roving camera nose-dived for a better look.
The Indigene, trapped beneath multiple restraints, panicked and twisted until one arm broke free from its wrist clamp. White, Jameson and the assistant rushed to restrain the alien while Henshall struggled to strap down the rogue arm.
Jameson yanked the hood off his head. A breath rushed out of him as he pushed hair out of his eyes. ‘We are attempting to place further restraints on Species 31. It seems to have broken... Shit, this thing is strong... I need help over here.’ He trailed off and protected his face as the young Indigene’s free arm smacked him.
A low guttural snarl escaped from the alien. The twisting and thrashing gave way to violent convulsions directly beneath the doctors’ grip. They let go and backed away from the table. Jameson shot a look at Henshall.
She shook her head and stared down at the Indigene. ‘That wasn’t me.’
Jameson attempted to restrain it once more. ‘White, help me hold it down. Give it the anti-convulsion drug, quickly.’
Henshall picked up another liquid-filled syringe and quickly pushed it into the alien’s arm. The needle bent again, but the skin yielded to her urgency.
When the convulsions stopped, all four stood back from the table.
Jameson was silent. His mouth opened but he didn’t explain what had just happened.
Bill turned off the video and released a long breath. Had Isla disturbed one of these Indigene feeding frenzies? Had they attacked her because of it?
He swallowed hard and opened a new recording. The same three doctors came into view, more composed than before.
The young Indigene lay motionless on the table. Bed sheets and bandages littered the floor; cutting instruments previously placed neatly on the tray were now tossed around.
Jameson clicked his fingers at the assistants when he noticed the camera was still recording. They cleared the debris out of shot.
The lack of blood and incisions on the Indigene surprised Bill.
Jameson cleared his throat and pushed his hair back. ‘At first we thought the epidermis was translucent in colour, but on closer inspection it was actually opaque and not as delicate as we first expected. It’s several times more durable than human skin. The laser scalpel had trouble penetrating the outer layer. Skin pigmentation is not visible. I’m not even sure there are melanocytes present in the toughened layer. Species 31 is capable of regeneration. We cut the male several times but he healed in less than a minute, even in posthumous conditions.’ He touched the Indigene’s face. ‘The eyes lack pigmentation, which probably explains the photosensitivity. This species can see better in the dark than we can.’
Bill had read about a case in the early twenty-first century: children in East Asia and South America were recorded as being able to see in the dark. Doctors had attributed the mystery to leukoderma, a rare condition which strips pigmentation or melanin production in random areas of the skin, leaving white patches. But where it affected the eyes it would cause blindness, not improve vision. The medical world turned its attention towards hemeralopia—or the inability to see in bright light—to explain the increase of these nocturnal-children cases. The story lost momentum when nothing beyond hemeralopia could explain the condition.
Bill tuned in again to Dr Jameson.
‘There is no visible hair on Species 31’s body. We also found low levels of red blood cells in its body, other than trace remnants in the digestive system.’ He sighed. ‘Human blood accounts for seven per cent of bodily fluids. In Species 31, it accounts for less than one per cent. When we sliced the skin open, a clear fluid secreted out. It’s what gives the alien an almost-translucent appearance.’
Dr White picked up three items and showed them to the camera. ‘We discovered these, in the alien’s nasal cavities and in the back of its throat. We think it’s an air filtration device. It would explain the scarring we found on the male’s lungs. Species 31 didn’t die because of anything we did. He died because of too much oxygen to the brain.’
Bill turned off the video and stared at the ceiling. He tried to erase the disturbing image of the panicky young Indigene from his mind. That’s all it had been; panic. Not aggression. A young Indigene had been separated from his friend and the government had experimented on him.
Bill thought of Stephen and his targeting of Ben Watson. Hunting was instinctual for these creatures. The interview with the officer had said as much. But animals appeared to be their preferred diet. Not humans. That made the alien less of a threat than Gilchrist had implied.
If the Indigenes were more passive than the reports suggested, what the hell had happened to Isla?
30
Tucked into a darkened doorway, Stephen and Anton watched the exchange unfold between the official and Bill Taggart.
A week of life on board an oxygen-rich ship had given Stephen a headache.
Why do you hate the humans? asked Anton.
> Stephen stared after the investigator as he walked away. He switched to his voice; his head hurt less when he talked out loud. ‘Because they are killers.’
‘I’m glad you decided to help those people in the end.’
‘I came close to ignoring their screams.’
‘I don’t believe you would have let them die. You’re nothing like the vigilantes trying to make trouble for the elders.’
The vigilantes blamed the humans for everything.
‘Maybe they have a point.’ But he was tired of despising a race that had killed his parents and almost wiped the Indigenes from existence.
Yet, that hate had become a part of him.
Anton’s brow creased. ‘Pierre’s opinion of the humans seems to differ.’
‘Pierre is practical. He prefers the option with the least carnage.’
‘Maybe we should make our own mind up about them.’
Stephen smirked. ‘You sound like Pierre.’
‘He’s not an elder for nothing.’
‘The fact that they are also called “human” bothers me.’
‘No matter what they claim to be, we can’t immediately assume they’re enemies. A sentence without trial would make us just like them.’
‘But we are like them. That’s the problem.’ Stephen sighed. ‘Maybe not physically, but in other ways.’
Anton gestured after the investigator. ‘He’s alone. Why don’t we just approach him? Demand answers about why they’re investigating us? Why he followed you into the tunnel?’
‘I’m not ready for that yet.’ The thought of getting close to any human terrified him. ‘Besides, this Gilchrist and Deighton character appear to run things on Earth. I don’t want to tip them off about our arrival. We should wait until we get to Earth before we strike.’
His answer didn’t appear to satisfy Anton. ‘But what if we lose him after we disembark? We don’t know where he’s headed.’
‘It will be fine. When we reach their planet we can turn the tables and track him.’
Stephen remembered back to the event a year ago that had claimed the life of one of their Evolvers. The pair had been hunting away from the main party. It had been on that same night the humans had discovered the existence of the Indigenes.