“I hear you,” Reg said evenly. “Go on.”
He said that the lab’s research required the production of many infectious cultures including smallpox, encephalitis, cholera, typhoid, and influenza. But the two agents they harvested in the greatest quantities were the bacterium anthrax and ebola, a virus. While insisting that the lab served only “experimental purposes,” the scientist explained how the two agents were mixed to weapons-grade strength and stored inside glass tubes. If released into the environment, the two substances would create a highly lethal one-two punch. Anthrax, he said, strikes quickly, manifests as bloody lesions on the skin, and is lethal in fifty percent of cases. Ebola, the scientist explained, takes slightly longer, but kills ninety percent of the time. Within days, it would bring on high fever and internal hemorrhaging. In the final stages of death, the carrier would thrash about, spilling contaminated blood. The infection had the potential of spreading widely before symptoms could arise.
“And you created these things?” Fadeela asked. The scientist didn’t answer.
Edward spit in the dirt where the man was sitting.
“Can the aliens use them?” Reg asked. “Aren’t they hard to deploy?”
“I’m sorry. They know to use them; I told them several different ways. They forced me to tell them.”
“What’s the most efficient way to use them?” Tye asked. “Assuming, of course, that you’re bent on world domination and want to kill as many humans as you possibly can.”
The man was sure of his answer. “In aerosol form, during the early morning, so they can create droplets and spread along the ground, and best if sprayed from a high elevation over a population center.”
“This stuff the aliens took, how many people could it kill?”
The scientist shrugged and said the question was impossible to answer.
“How many?” Fadeela insisted.
“Theoretically, several times the population of Earth. But realistically, only a few million.”
When she heard those words come out of his mouth, Fadeela raised her rifle and almost shot him. “Don’t say only a few million.”
“They were never meant to be used!”
“How did they take the stuff?” Reg asked. “Did they just come in and raid the refrigerators?”
“As I told you, we were preparing to leave,” the scientist said. “We had orders to relocate to the national facility in Riyadh. We had all the toxins packed for transport.”
“Packed how?”
“Padded containers, this big,” he said, miming a one-foot-square box with his hands, “with a handle.”
“How many?”
‘Two. The other one went out this morning.”
“So all they took was one container?’
“Yes.”
“Was it silver?” Reg asked, remembering seeing it in the alien’s arms.
The scientist nodded and broke down in tears when they were finished questioning him. They left him sitting there and went inside the greenhouse, where they stood around in silence for a while, looking at the ground where they’d buried Miriyam. Everyone in the room realized how serious the situation had become. Even though a mere fraction of the alien population had survived the downing of their ship, it was beginning to look as if they were still strong enough and smart enough to win the war on the ground. Not only had the aliens carefully researched the Earth’s ability to defend itself before arriving, they were also capable of gathering sensitive information at will. Tye walked outside and studied the workings of the amber medallion until the others were ready to leave. Obviously, they had celebrated their victory prematurely.
11
A ROADSIDE ENCOUNTER
The drive back toward the oasis was silent and slow. Despite the urgency of their errand—warning the Saudi Air Force not to bomb the alien ship for fear of dispersing the biological weapons—they traveled along at only thirty miles an hour. The truck’s engine was threatening to mutiny. The needle on the temperature gauge was in the red. The oil light was flashing, and they were low on fuel. But there was another reason for their slow progress. Miriyam’s death had stunned all of them, made them feel that their efforts at resistance were doomed to failure. No one felt the loss more acutely than Ali. The first time he’d met her, they had almost punched each other’s lights out, but since then, he’d learned to admire and rely on her.
It was late afternoon, and the sun was a bright orange ball hanging over the Asir mountains, directly ahead of them. Ali squinted as he drove, doing his best to steer wide of the places where tongues of sand had licked up onto the highway. For miles around, the terrain was a flat wasteland of sand and stony hillocks, with a few patches of withered scrub brush.
Twenty miles from Qal’at Buqum, they spotted a metallic glimmer in the distance. It was coming from the solar panels mounted on the roof of an isolated gas station they’d passed on the way out. The main building was a modern box of glass and steel that looked like it had fallen off the back of a truck headed for a more civilized part of the world. Ali pulled in to the station, planning to stop just long enough to fill the tank and let the engine cool.
The station was open for business and attended by two older Saudi men who sat outside leaning against the wall of the convenience store. They were listening to loud, whining Arabic music and smoking tobacco from a hookah, a water pipe. Neither of the men gave any indication that the extraordinary events of the last three days had changed their lives in any way. When Ali skidded to a halt at the pumps, one of them went inside to tend the store, while the other slipped his shoes on and sauntered over to pump the gas. Fadeela was the first one out of the truck. She asked the attendant whether the station had a phone or a radio. Of course he had a phone, he answered, but it required a satellite uplink and hadn’t been working since the trouble began.
“We have information for the army at Qal’at Buqum,” she said, “an important message.”
The man shrugged and pointed down the road. The only way to contact the army would be to go there in person. He didn’t seem at all surprised to be conversing with a beautiful Saudi woman dressed in combat fatigues. Nor did he bat an eyelash when her traveling companions turned out to be three Brits, an Ethiopian, a Jordanian, an Israeli, and a powerfully built Saudi who was content to stay behind the wheel, looking crumpled and lost in contemplation. As he’d done ten thousand times before, the old man lifted the nozzle out of its cradle and began filling the gas tank while the passersby stretched their legs and wandered inside the store.
There wasn’t much of anything on the shelves, and some of what there was looked as if it had been there for years. The pilots picked up everything that looked edible and as much bottled water as they could carry. Sutton was at the counter negotiating the price of dried dates. He picked up the entire display and set it down in front of the shopkeeper.
“How much?”
The man, who spoke not a word of English, calmly picked up a pencil and wrote the price on a slip of paper. When he pushed it across the counter, Sutton realized the Saudis didn’t use Arabic numbers. Realizing he’d need help, he called Edward over, and a price was quickly established.
“We must look pretty strange to you,” Edward said to the old man in his own language. “I bet you don’t get many groups like us.” The man flicked his hand lazily through the air as if batting the question away.
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “If you stay in one spot long enough, eventually you see everything. Believe it or not, the whole world comes down this road, little by little.” He gave the impression that nothing could surprise him, but his world-weary eyes widened slightly when the pilots began pulling huge amounts of cash from their envelopes to pay for their purchases.
Yossi bought two packs of cigarettes and tossed one at Edward before heading outside and walking across the asphalt toward the bathrooms, which were in a separate building, closer to the road. A moment after the convenience store’s door closed behind Yossi, it swung ope
n again. Tye rushed inside, agitated and out of breath.
“Look at this,” he yelled, pushing his way up to the cash register. “I think I’ve found something.” He had one of the amber medallions resting on the palm of his hand and put the other two on the counter.
“Will you stop playing with those things,” Sutton said. “Has it ever occurred to you that you might be giving away our position every time you start fiddling with them?”
“That’s exactly what I want to show you. Take a look.” As he had shown them before, when the device came into contact with skin, hundreds of tiny diamond shapes appeared, seeming to float just below the transparent surface. Although they assumed the slowly pulsating shapes formed an intelligible pattern, they were unable to determine what it was.
“Help me,” Edward said. “I can’t read alien.”
Tye grabbed for the first stray hand he could find. It turned out to be Fadeela’s. He held it down on the counter and dropped the medallion into her palm. Using a pencil he found on the counter, he pointed at one of the tiny shapes near the periphery of the display surface. “Keep your eyes on this dot,” he said. Then he put a second medallion in the shopkeeper’s hand. When he did, the diamond shape in question doubled. When he picked up the third medallion in his own hand, it tripled.
“That’s us,” Reg said, figuring it out. “We’re on their screens.”
“I knew it. You’re showing them where we are,” Sutton said.
“Pretty interesting, don’t you think?” Tye asked.
“Maybe too interesting,” Fadeela said. She took the pencil from Tye and pointed to a double diamond moving slowly across the screen. “It looks like this one is coming in our direction.” After watching for a moment, the others could see she was right.
“It looks like they’re coming from the north,” Reg said. “Try moving your hand to a new angle.” Fadeela did, and the diamonds on the screen adjusted to her new position. “It works like a compass.”
“More like a global positioning device.”
“Well, whatever it is, let’s go out and have a look.”
They hurried out of the store and ran around the back side of the building. Far to the north, something was moving across the open desert fast enough to kick twin trails of dust high into the air.
“Are all of you dense?” Sutton demanded. He slapped the medallion out of Tye’s hand and sent it skittering across the asphalt with a kick. “You’re leading them straight to us. We’ve got to make ourselves scarce. I’ll get Yossi. The rest of you get the truck started.”
“Hold on there,” Reg said, still staring across the sand. “I’ve got another idea.”
Five minutes later, a pair of alien chariots trotted out of the desert and parked themselves on opposite sides of the restroom building. Their passengers dismounted and took a long look around. After a moment, the two that had stopped closer to the store turned and marched toward the men’s bathroom. Except for their hideous, otherworldly appearance, they could have been just two more motorists who had stopped to use the facilities before continuing on their journey. Most of the pilots were hiding inside the store, along with the two men who ran the station.
“Okay. Now I have seen everything,” one of the old men said in Arabic.
A heartbeat after the first alien walked through the bathroom door, he was blown back outside by the jet of fire shooting from Edward’s flamethrower. His startled companion backed away, but didn’t get too far before Remi stepped outside and unleashed a second torrent of flames. Both skeletal bodies staggered through the flames, slapping at themselves with hands and tentacles until the walls of their suits opened and the creatures inside squirmed out and tried to run. One of them collapsed in the fire. Edward polished the other one off with a single shot from his pistol.
Even before they saw the flare of the flamethrowers, the other two aliens knew there was trouble. One of them came sprinting around the corner, moving too fast to maintain its balance. The knuckles of its curved toes slid out from under it, and it spilled sideways to the ground. As it fell, it fired a series of quick shots that sent Edward and Remi scrambling back into the men’s room for cover. The creature used its tentacles to lift itself to its feet, then began marching deliberately toward the rest room, firing one pulse blast after another. The blasts tore into the wall, tearing it down a few bricks at a time. The remaining alien brought the chariot around to offer backup. Maintaining a cautious distance from the building, the alien brought it to a stop in the middle of the highway. Its comrade continued to pulverize the front wall of the restroom building, moving closer each time it fired.
“They’re in trouble,” Yossi said. “Let’s help them.”
“Where’s that alien gun?” Reg asked Tye. “Time to give it a test.” The men rushed toward the exit doors, leaving Fadeela with the dumbstruck shopkeepers. She was about to follow them outside when she had an idea. She picked up one of the amber medallions and pressed the coppery side against the back of her hand. As soon as she did so, the alien firing the pulse blasts froze for a moment and swiveled its magnificent shell head around to look in her direction. Then it pointed its finger straight toward her.
“Get down!” she yelled. The old men hit the deck a split second before a white flash shattered the window and tore into the store.
This momentary distraction was all the opportunity Remi needed. He popped out of the men’s room and discharged another spike of liquefied fire. It splattered against the alien’s back. As the creature screeched and fell to the ground, the other soldiers opened fire on the alien sitting in his chariot. Before their bullets could do more than ding against his armor, the creature ducked behind the protective front wall of the vehicle. Under a hailstorm of bullets, the sled broke into a backwards sprint, moving just as smoothly as it did when running forward.
“Come back here, you bloody wanker,” Sutton shouted after the retreating vehicle.
“That’s the first time we’ve chased one off,” Tye observed.
“We’ve got him outnumbered and outgunned,” Reg said. “He’s the first one to show any sense.”
But the creature’s retreat was only temporary. After stopping a safe distance out in the desert to survey the scene, it charged to the attack once more. The alien kept low behind the superhard material of the chariot’s front wall and fired blindly as it came.
Tye was amazed. “It’s like a pit bull with a bone in its mouth. It just doesn’t know when to give up.” A moment later, a pulse zinged past him and ripped into the front wall of the station house.
“Keep him pinned down,” Reg yelled to Sutton and Yossi. “We’ll move up and get the angle on him.” Then he and Tye hustled forward to the edge of the road and took cover behind a stack of discarded tires. Tye unwrapped the pulse weapon and let it climb onto his arm. Then he stole a glance over the tires and was alarmed to see the chariot heading directly toward them. He was nervous and breathing hard.
“What if it doesn’t work this time?” he asked, looking down at the thing on his arm. Reg patted him on the shoulder and tried to reassure him.
“Remember: It’s all mental. If we both tell it to fire, it’ll fire. All we have to do is concentrate. Aim right at the head, and we’ll be okay.”
While bullets and pulse blasts ripped by in opposite directions overhead, Reg and Tye hunkered down and waited. The next time they peeked out, the front wall of the chariot was nearly on top of them. It was about to pass well within a tentacle’s reach.
“One shot,” Reg said. “Make it count.”
Tye extended his arm like a rifle, and Reg gripped the copper-colored flippers. When the front end of the chariot brushed past, they came face-to-face with the crouching exoskeleton. The eight-foot-tall beast recoiled when it saw the humans. Reg mentally willed the gun to fire, but nothing happened. The sight of the hideous beast so close to them had distracted Tye from his purpose. With a screech, the startled alien lifted a tentacle to lash at the men.
“F
ire!” Reg yelled, visualizing the pulse leaving the end of the weapon. It worked. The shell face blew apart just as the tentacle came across the side of Tye’s head; it connected with the force of a heavyweight’s punch and sent Tye flying. Reg pulled out a pistol and stood over the still-quivering body. A pair of reflective eyes stared up at him through the jagged opening in the armor. He pointed the pistol and prepared to kill it, but hesitated. Would it be possible, he wondered, to take the thing prisoner? Could I interrogate it the same way they did to me? He could feel it trying to attack telepathically, but its mental energy was very weak. Reg knew it was dying. He was still standing there thinking when Sutton ran up and pumped twenty shells into the opening, turning the alien’s head into a lumpy liquid paste. Sutton could have gone on firing, but Reg stopped him.
“First the Israeli woman, and now Tye.” Sutton was trembling with anger. “He wasn’t much of a soldier, but one hell of a nice kid.”
“I’m not quite dead yet,” came a voice from behind them, “just resting.”
Blood was streaming down the side of Tye’s head. He’d lost a chunk of his left ear, but was otherwise uninjured. With help from the others, he got to his feet and slowly regained his balance. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’ve taken harder hits during rugby matches.”
Once he saw that Tye was going to pull through, Sutton regretted sounding like a mollycoddler and changed his tune. “It’s your own fault, you know. You ever hear of a thing called ducking?” Then he took one of his friend’s arms and led him back toward the damaged service station.
Yossi had gone to check on Edward and Remi. They came out of the destroyed rest room and extinguished their flamethrowers. The three men walked over to the alien chariot and took their first unhurried look at the inside of the vehicle. Like the other alien technologies they’d seen, it looked like the shell of a living thing. The riding area was shaped like a shallow bowl coated with a thick slathering of the same clear jelly lining the inside of the bioarmor cavities. Sand, dust, and twigs covered this sticky substance everywhere except where the aliens had recently been kneeling. There were no steering controls, knobs, or dials. There wasn’t even anything to hold on to.
Complete Independence Day Omnibus, The Page 73