Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone

by Andrews, Christopher

Callin straightened, for real this time, and whispered, “Charl ...” He turned to rejoin the others ...

  ... just as a harsh klaxon emanated from the open portal of the Noctoponm ship. It sounded three times, followed by a louder, lower-pitched alarm, then fell silent.

  Michael turned to Callin. “Please, please tell me that’s not a self-destruct signal.”

  Callin demanded, “Do you still have my communicator?” Michael passed it over as fast as he could. “Larr! Come in?”

  “Callin?! You sound terrible! We were just about to call your friend. Are the—?”

  “Larr, I need a reading on the Noctoponm ship, right now! Are you showing any power buildups?”

  Ever professional, Larr did not ask for an explanation. “Stand by ...”

  Running through their options, Callin addressed Michael. “If we have to—”

  But Larr’s answer came through that fast. “We are not, I repeat, are not showing any power buildups. Their veil might have hidden something like that, but they’ve got a breach.” Michael gestured toward the open portal; Callin nodded his agreement. “If anything, the ship’s power levels are dropping ... wait, Naltin has something ...”

  Having been on the verge of relaxing again, the next seconds of silence were difficult to handle. But again, Larr didn’t keep them waiting for long.

  “Callin, a minute ago some kind of signal went out from their ship. Bi-tonal, some kind of simple, coded communication.”

  Michael looked at Callin. “Don’t tell me there’re more Noctoponm on their way.”

  Another sound pierced the silence, but this time it was coming from Michael’s coat. He pulled out his dirty, scratched phone to see a priority call coming in from Captain Brunn. With some reluctance, he accepted the call.

  “Lieutenant!” Brunn snapped without waiting for a greeting. “We’ve got trouble!”

  It took a great deal of discipline for Michael to hold back a smart-ass reply to that. “Captain Brunn, the Noctoponm—”

  “I know,” Brunn cut him off, sounding impatient, “satellite imagery showed the fight there ended a few minutes ago.” As a clear afterthought, Brunn threw in a quick, “Good job, congratulations. But, Lieutenant, I’m not talking about them.”

  Feeling so tired he could cry, Michael asked, “Then what is it, Captain?”

  “It’s that first troublemaker, the bounty hunter. He’s breaking out of the pit right now!”

  PARANORMALS AND THE TAALU

  Moments after Callin Lan and Michael Takayasu heard the klaxon from within the Noctoponm’s ship, Lieutenant Commander Bradley Falkenberg, warden of the regional Paranormal Correctional Facility (he, personally, detested the nickname “rogue pit”) heard an alarm of his own.

  Falkenberg was growing weary of these prisonbreaks. They disrupted the placidity he strove to create for both inmates and guards alike, and this turmoil served neither group well. He had been led to understand that, with the addition of the odd individual currently locked away in solitary confinement, these occurrences would die down. Yet, here he was, working very late in his office but just minutes from finally going home, and the alarm was sounding. He took a moment to calm his irritation before hefting himself up from his chair and moving into the outer office to man the central intercom, something Ensign Blackwater usually did during normal hours.

  “This is Falkenberg,” he stated — no reason to snap at the watch supervisors; this wasn’t their fault. “Which wing is affected this time?”

  Different supervisors sounded off, each returning the “all clear,” until—

  “This is Ensign Shimazu in Solitary, sir. The unit at the end of the hall just went dark.”

  “Explain ‘went dark,’ Ensign.”

  “The lights in that cell are out, most of the hallway lights are blown, and all anti-rogue systems at that end shut down at once,” the Ensign replied, sounding more panicked as he rambled on. “We didn’t detect any undue pressure on the safety glass, no increase in heat or cold, no corrosives or heavy gases. The psi-meter was flat, but to be honest, sir, none of us really trust that one. I saw a tiny spike in the ambient electrical field, but nothing that couldn’t happen ... Hold on, sir.”

  Keeping the line open for the Ensign, Falkenberg fumbled for his phone. Captain Brunn and that La Palma fellow from Homeland Security had been very clear about the sensitive nature of this VIP guest. In spite of the hour, the phone only rang twice before the Captain picked up the line ...

  PCA

  The bounty hunter — whose given name was so long and difficult to pronounce in his native language that even he hated to say — used his natural, retractable claws to crawl along the ceiling, down the hallway toward the daft human guards. None of them had yet to look up, which was a good thing — thanks to that slant-eyed human, his hunter’s cloak was seriously impaired. If any of those feebleminded humans thought to shine a light at the ceiling, there was a good chance they would notice the orange coating he had been unable to get rid of ... which was why he needed to take them down the moment they got up the nerve to move under him. The problem was, the hallway was very dark now, and the humans were spooked.

  Stupid primates — they took away his spiker, took away his favorite blade, blunted his cloak, locked him in a zoo exhibit of a cage ... and then they just assumed that, in spite of his alien physiology, their primitive little headband would inhibit any convert abilities he might have? Had they not considered how he had been setting their converts free? Did they think he shorted out their security measures with his knife? Idiots.

  Of course, it was one thing to approach those security measures from the outside, when he had time to examine and calculate. But when the signal came through to his subdermal receiver that the Noctoponm had failed — failed! as impossible as that seemed — he’d had no time for finesse. Once the Taalu discovered that his three associates had their own subdermal transponders (transponders he had tricked the Noctoponm, not without personal risk, into accepting a few years ago), it wouldn’t take them long to realize their purpose. If the hunter wanted any chance of claiming that Veraun reward, he had to get out of here right now. So, he’d had to fire off his convert-gifted EMP a little stronger, a little broader, than he preferred, but it was a risk he had to take ... and it paid off when his cage opened — something the natives could have prevented with the inclusion of a simple, manual lock. Morons.

  The humans were finally inching their way toward his empty cell, their hand lights scanning back and forth. He stopped moving, unable to risk one of them finally spotting a flitter of fluorescent orange (damn that slant-eyed human!) as they passed under him. Their stun weapons were a little weak by his species’ standards, and a little weaker still by his own, but they had already proven that enough of them at once could bring him down.

  Treading carefully, their weapons at the ready, the four humans crept past, the taller one barely a foot below him. He would have preferred his spiker for this next part, but he knew from experience that his claws would do.

  Then one of them finally turned his light upward and gasped.

  The bounty hunter dropped ... and three men and one woman died.

  PCA

  When Callin and Michael informed the others of the emergency, they did not grasp the danger at first. They were all so tired, so hurt, still coming down from the mortal threat of the Noctoponm, that they were willing to let this one slide for now. They’d caught the bounty hunter once, they could do it again — later, after they’d all slept for a week.

  But Larr, who had come running with Naltin and Callin’s mother to Charl’s side, got it right away, and his conviction spread to the rest of them: If the bounty hunter, whose well-cloaked ship they had never located, were to truly escape — as in leave planet Earth — he would be free to tell others, any others, where the Taalu could be found. More hunters would come, and where would it end?

  But what could they do? The rogue pit was further away than Cheyenne — would a jet get there fast
enough?

  “And who goes?” Density pointed out. “Shockwave is out, Powerhouse isn’t much better off, and this poor Charl boy needs medical attention right now.”

  “She’s right,” Steve agreed, holding his right side as he rose to his feet. “Michael and I can go with Callin—”

  “Vortex,” Michael interrupted, “you’re in pretty bad shape yourself.”

  “Not as bad as these guys,” he retorted. “Remember, every second that goes by, I’m recharging. I’ll be ready.”

  “I was referring to your injuries—” Michael began.

  “I can’t wait for your jet this time,” Callin remarked. “We can’t risk the bounty hunter’s escape. I’ll get there faster alone.”

  “Grand Lord,” Larr rebuked, “you’re wounded. And never mind the energy you depleted summoning your sword and shield—”

  “We’re wasting time,” Callin snapped, “time we don’t have!”

  Steve limped forward. “Take me with you.”

  “I can’t,” Callin said, barely reigning in his impatience. “I wouldn’t be able to fly fast enough if I carried you. My energy sheath, the wind pressure—”

  “Callin,” Larr cut in, “right now you won’t be able to fly fast enough for that to be a concern. And what good will it do if you fall flat on your face when you get there?”

  Della joined them as Larr finished his reproval. Naltin had brought her a translator, and she said, “Larr tells that’s right, Callin. You have need my help.”

  “Della,” Callin chided his sister, “you aren’t as fast as I am.” He waved them all away. “This is ridiculous. I have to go, now.”

  Della took his right hand in hers, wrapping her fingers around the grip he still had on his sword. “You misunderstand. If I’m not fast to join you, I can help the speed together.”

  Steve whispered to Michael, “I didn’t follow that one.”

  But Callin had. “Della, that’s dangerous ...”

  Reaching up to her collar, Della switched her translator off. When she next spoke, the only word the humans understood was “Cargaun.” Callin shook his head, tried to pull his hand away, but she wouldn’t let him go; instead, she placed her other hand against his cheek and added something more.

  “She’s right, Callin,” Larr said in English.

  Callin shook his head again. “No ... I—”

  “As you keep saying, Grand Lord,” Larr pointed out, “we don’t have time to argue.” The old man turned to Steve. “Will you go with him?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Callin, recall your armament, but have them spread longer, wider. Do it now, before sharing from Della.”

  Torn between wanting to argue and the ticking clock, Callin nodded, then lowered his head in rapt focus. The metal of his sword and shield wavered, rippled, and as he brought his arms together, they appeared to almost liquify as they reached toward one another, transmuting into the familiar, glistening fabric of Callin’s cape.

  As this transpired, Larr surprised Steve by saying to him in a very low voice, “They were constructed of an organic steel, something we call ‘living metal’ — very rare, very valuable. When Callin was exposed to the conversion wave during his fight with the Cargaun, it also affected them.”

  Steve had a million questions, but he knew they would have to wait.

  Once the sword and shield completed their transformation, Larr collected the cape that lay across Callin’s arms. “Share from Della, now. Hurry.”

  As Callin and Della faced one another, Larr turned toward Steve, allowing the cape to spread and hang free — it was larger than before; if Callin wore it now, it would drag the ground.

  “We will wrap you in this,” Larr whispered. “It will shield you from the wind and help you to breathe, as well as protect you from Callin’s energy.”

  Steve was again plagued with many questions, but this time his focus was drawn to the Lan siblings. Callin and Della clasped one another’s forearms, bowing their heads until their foreheads touched. They remained this way for several uninterrupted seconds, seeming almost to be lost in joint prayer ... and then they began to glow.

  As the others watched, Callin’s silver and Della’s golden sheaths melded where they met, coruscating in a way unique from their normal qualities. Della’s glow then flowed toward Callin, swirling into his silver energy, mixing without intermixing, at first ... until the gold faded, absorbed into the silver, leaving the latter more vibrant than ever.

  Della gasped, arching her back. She gasped again, this one sounding pained. Then she fell away into Larr’s waiting arms, her golden energy gone.

  Callin looked down upon his sister, waiting for a nod from Larr. When the old man gave it, Shining Star pivoted to Vortex, his energy burning so bright Takayasu and Density had to look away.

  “Let’s go.”

  PCA

  The bounty hunter’s escape had taken far longer than anticipated. Killing the humans in the hall was no great task, but when he reached the elevator, he found more escape preventions in place, more anti-convert technology. He used his EMP again, and again, and it began to wear on him. The elevator then refused to work, which was his own damn fault, so he ended up climbing up the shaft, only to encounter conventional traps — projectile weaponry loaded with rubber slugs and a crude net that, even as he scoffed at such a primitive notion, nonetheless managed to ensnare him. In the time it took to claw his way through, the humans were almost on him. The guards also had a convert with them this time, one who made him dizzy and nauseous with a wave of her arms.

  But it wasn’t enough — the hunter was determined to leave this miserable planet, and nothing these annoying primates could do would stop him. He would let others deal with them — that was what he did best; his expertise lay in infiltration and sedition, not combat.

  Finally, he broke free of their traps, escaped their confinement, and made his way toward his vessel. Just a few more minutes and this backward mudball would be behind him.

  Good riddance.

  PCA

  For Steve, the flight to the rogue pit was different from the times Callin had carried him with hands under his armpits, different from riding Powerhouse piggyback to the ground. Lying across Callin’s arms, plus being swaddled head-to-toe in Callin’s cape-turned-blanket, was uncomfortable and a bit emasculating, and the constant pressure, the steady vibration ... it wasn’t doing his broken ribs any good, that was for sure. He reminded himself, repeatedly, that at least at Shining Star’s speeds, it wouldn’t last long.

  Then he finally heard exactly what he’d been waiting for: Callin shouted, “We’re here!”

  It took them a solid minute to slow down, to avoid adverse effects on Steve’s body. Callin circled around in a long curve as Steve tugged his face free of the cape so that he could see.

  The rogue pit was lit up, all external lights blazing at full strength, with searchlights probing its environs. Fortunately, the PCA staff had been warned to expect them, so no one took shots as they circled the facility.

  “Switching to ultraviolet,” Steve announced. He intended to scan the area for the escaping alien, but something much bigger came into view. “Holy shit! It’s on the roof!”

  “The bounty hunter—?”

  “No! His ship!”

  “Where is it?”

  “Toward the front, the side closest to the main gate.” Steve shook his head. “Jesus, I was just waiting for him to make a move on Cooper. It never occurred to me to recon the roof.”

  As they drew closer, Steve saw that the bounty hunter’s ship was squat, bulbous, and relatively small, a craft large enough to house only a few people — or, in this case, humanoid frog-things — with little room to spare; within his UV sight, its cloaking field was a beautiful shade of bronze.

  As they descended to the rooftop, Callin said, “This is perfect. If we disable his vessel, here, now, the threat he represents—”

  “Oh, crap.”

  As Vortex watched, a fi
gure scuttled over the edge of the building. It paused upon seeing the descending heroes, then made a mad dash for the ship.

  “There! Right there!”

  “I can see what’s left of the orange paint. I’ll get him.”

  “Drop me and do it! Hurry!”

  Shining Star swooped in and dropped him as gently as he could without landing. Steve grunted as he favored his bad leg — the roof was covered with little white rocks, which didn’t help, but he kept from falling, and his aching ribs thanked him. Shining Star accelerated toward the fleeing bounty hunter, but too late — the hunter dove through an open port on the side of his ship. The Grand Lord brought both fists to bear, preparing to fire twin volleys of energy.

  Purple light pulsed from the ship, rattling its cloak and bringing the vessel partially into the normal light spectrum. Unfortunately, this was a trade the bounty hunter had been willing to make, knowing the effect the light would have on the Taalu.

  Shining Star faltered, careening sideways in his flight and crashing onto the roof to the left of the ship. He sat up, shaking his head, but his expression was one of panic.

  “Vortex!” Shining Star cried. “I ... I can’t see!” He yanked off his eye-mask, but this evidently did not help; the purple light had been far from blinding, so something else had to be going on.

  “I’m coming!” Vortex shouted, stumbling forward as quickly as his bad leg and ribs would allow.

  “Which direction?!” His right hand was glowing with pent-up energy, waiting for release. He struggled to his feet, revealing the fresh blood flowing from his hip wound. “Tell me where to shoot!”

  Vortex opened his mouth to answer, then swore instead as the ship rose from the rooftop. “It just took off! Up and to your— no, straight up now!”

  Not wanting to take any chances, Shining Star fired in that and several directions. One of his shots clipped the side of the ship, bringing it fully into normal view, but the vessel was still climbing.