The Trojan Horse

by Christopher Nuttall

  It took her an hour of shuffling before she finally reached the bar. By then, night was falling over Washington, a deeper night than the city had known for a long time. The aliens, for whatever reason of their own, were rationing power. Jayne suspected it was merely a way to remind the citizens that they no longer controlled their own lives. The Talking Shop generally catered for Washington’s upper elite of political aides, bureaucrats and civil servants, men and women who made the country run. Unsurprisingly, many of them had chosen to remain in their jobs, serving the aliens. It was a job, after all, and their families needed to be fed. Jayne hated them even as she understood them – and hated herself for understanding.

  She’d had her hair cut just after changing motels and it looked short, almost elfin. Once she’d gone into the toilet and pulled off most of the disguise, she managed to look remarkably attractive – and cheap. She inspected herself in the mirror, pulled down her shirt to show the tops of her breasts, and then practiced smiles until she was confident that she looked seductive. The trick would be picking up the right person…she sauntered out of the toilet, sat down near the bar, and ordered a drink. It wasn’t long until men started to cluster around her, but she did her best to ignore them. She wanted to land a bigger fish, someone actively involved with the aliens…

  A hand fell on her shoulder. “Buy you a drink, lady?”

  Jayne would have slapped him in her old life. The man thought he had the power to compel her to take his drink, and maybe a mouthful of his cock for good measure. She’d met the type before, men who were so powerful that they thought they could get away with anything. Even if Jayne had been with someone else, he would have tried to make a pass. And if his target had known how important he was, he would have succeeded. Or he would have had his revenge.

  “Yes, please,” she said, trying to look flirtatious. It was wasted effort. Her mark had already started to order the drinks, including a surprisingly large amount of cocktails. Jayne hesitated, wondering if he intended to get her drunk, but it rapidly became obvious that he intended to drink most of them himself. He threw back his alcohol and seemed unfazed. A heavy drinker then, Jayne noted. She was careful to only take a few sips of her wine. His hands were already roaming over her back.

  “Come on,” he grunted, finally. He’d had enough drinks to put Jayne in a stupor, yet somehow he managed to stay on his feet. “I think we should go something else, don’t you?”

  The cold night air seemed to shock her awake as they stepped out into the darkness. What was she doing? She could run; perhaps she should run. This could go very badly wrong. She eyed her companion, saw his beefy hands and roaming eyes, and winced inwardly. It could definitely go badly wrong. The mark hailed a taxi and gave directions to a fashionable building near the Senate. Definitely someone important, then, she concluded. She pushed her doubts aside and waited for her chance. It would come soon enough.

  In the taxi, his half-drunken hands were all over here. Jayne cursed herself and her bright ideas as she endured his pawing, even though each touch left a trail of slime over her body. Luckily, he was too drunk to undo her bra, or slip his hand into her panties. His kisses lacked all passion, or anything but lust. If she were really lucky, she told herself, he’d collapse before they could get inside. She cursed herself once again as the taxi pulled up to a stop outside a fancy apartment block. The armed guards outside checked her companion’s face, rolled their eyes and waved him through. Jayne had the distant feeling that his picking up of a random girl and taking her home for sex was a regular event. The guards certainly hadn't seemed concerned when they’d seen her.

  The interior of the apartment was nice, rather like a swanky hotel. Jayne watched in some amusement as her companion managed to stagger towards the elevator, push the button, and then stagger back to her and take her in his arms. She did her best to avoid a kiss as the elevator dinged for attention, her companion pulling her inside and pawing at her as soon as the door closed behind them. It was a relief when the elevator stopped at the fifth floor and they stumbled out. The oaf took nearly four tries to get the key into the lock before he finally managed to open the door. He was tugging Jayne inside before the door was even completely open.

  Jayne took a moment to study the apartment as he pushed her towards the sofa, letting go of her as he headed over to the drinks cabinet. Working for the aliens clearly paid well, although the asshole presumably hadn’t been working for them until they’d revealed their true nature. The apartment was decorated with various gaudy knickknacks and lucid paintings, including a version of the Mona Lisa where the woman was showing a naked breast to the artist. Jayne had never been to France and she’d certainly never seen the original, but she was sure it wasn't meant to be like that. Her date waved goofily at her, poured himself a large glass of wine, and swallowed it as if it were cheap water. And then, without any foreplay at all, he started to pull down his pants. Jayne had to hold herself in place to keep from physically recoiling. She’d seen how much he’d drunk, yet he could still get an erection. Had the aliens given him something to improve his sex life? It might explain why he’d become so willing to serve them.

  She waited until he was almost on top of her and then rammed her knee into his groin. He bent over, screaming in pain, almost falling on top of her. Jayne, discovering a brutality she hadn't really known she’d possessed, slammed a palm into his throat. He gagged and hit the floor. A moment later, she clonked him on the head with a vase and he slipped into unconsciousness. Jayne hesitated, looking down at him. He’d intended to have his way with her, even if she’d changed her mind – and yet, could she kill him? There was no question that she should kill him; she’d certainly planned to kill him, but...could she really end another person’s life? Could she really kill someone in cold blood?

  Shaking her head, she searched the apartment until she found some duct tape. The other items with the tape suggested just what he’d used it for, almost the exact mirror of what she intended to do to him. Gagging him first, she wrapped the duct tape around his arms and legs, binding him in place. Making sure he could breathe, she checked him as carefully as she could. He clearly had a thick skull. Jayne knew little about medicine, but it looked as if he would probably survive. And then he’d be missed.

  She checked the bonds one final time and then started to walk around the apartment, looking for information that might come in handy for broadcasting on the internet. Inside a hidden fridge, she found a whole series of luxuries, food and drinks that were no longer available to anyone on the streets of Washington, unless one had connections with the aliens or the puppet government. Jayne swallowed some food and felt a great deal better, even as she took expensive ham and turkey from the fridge and started turning it into sandwiches. She’d have to leave the apartment before her would-be molester was missed; who knew what time he was supposed to leave for work. Coming to think of it, what did he know that might come in handy?

  Sitting down in front of the computer, she allowed herself a tight smile at discovering that the oaf hadn't bothered to set up a password. He’d clearly expected the guards to stop anyone a long time before they reached the apartment. Opening some files, she started to put together a picture of what he did for a living. Before the Galactics had arrived, he’d worked as a charity organiser and lobbyist. His apartment had come from his commission; clearly, he received a kickback for every dollar he convinced people to donate to charity. It wasn't hard to start tracing the funds...and uncover a network that had been used, deliberately or otherwise, to support the aliens when they’d first arrived on Earth. Jayne had dismissed many of the wilder theories – including the theory that suggested that the Galactics had been infiltrating human society for years before they’d shown themselves – but maybe there was a hint of truth to them after all. Or maybe the Galactics had just taken advantage of a tool when they’d arrived.

  The network unfolded in front of her as she followed one principle of investigative journalism. Follow the money. H
e’d paid out vast sums to agitators who had helped work up the crowds that had demonstrated in front of the White House or the UN or everywhere else that could hold a protest march. He’d funded and designed much of the propaganda the Welcome Foundation used to greet the aliens – propaganda that was now dismissed by anyone with eyes to see what the aliens were doing to the world. And he’d donated vast sums to McGreevy’s election campaign. Jayne stared, unable to believe her eyes. How could anyone have been so stupid?

  She looked over at him and knew the answer. Arrogance. The arrogance that had told him that he could get away with anything, as long as he delivered the goods. His friends in high places would cover for him, perhaps, or maybe he didn’t even bother to think that far ahead. She’d seen enough lawyers and bankers who’d extruded the same sense of arrogance as they wrecked havoc on the stock market and the legal floor, certain that someone else would clean up the mess. The economic crisis that had been so big a deal before the aliens arrived owed much of its origin to arrogance.

  Working quickly, she started to copy all the files on the computer into a USB stick. She’d have to be careful how she distributed them, but there were enough people on the internet intent on liberating it from the aliens to distribute most of the files before they could be wiped. And if necessary repost them if – when – the aliens started removing them from the internet. While she was waiting, she wrapped up her sandwiches, several bottles of mineral water and the stash of cash she’d found in a vase. It wasn't a very good hiding place. She had half a mind to point that out to him before she left.

  Grinning, she walked back into the lounge and realised that her captive hadn’t recovered from the blow on his head. Jayne checked him quickly, and then hesitated, cursing her indecision. If she left him alive, he would be able to describe her to the aliens and they’d know who to blame for the public relations disaster. But if she killed him...she couldn't kill him. How could she cross that line?

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She wasn't sure who she was talking to; the captive, or herself. “I can't kill you.”

  Picking up her bag, she pulled her clothes back into place and walked out of the apartment. It was tempting to stay and have a shower – and loot it further – but there was no time. Who knew if the aliens were watching their collaborator. Jayne wouldn't have trusted him further than she could have thrown him.

  She was still smiling when she left the building, passed the guards, and vanished into the night.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Washington DC

  USA, Day 65

  Jason poured the bottle of alcohol – he’d long since stopped caring about what he ordered – into the glass and cursed as it ran dry. He’d never drunk before – well, not outside of college parties – and the wine was going to his head. But what else could he do? There was no hope for him now, or the Welcome Foundation, or anything else he might have cared about. SETI had had a dream, but the dream had become a nightmare and his life was at risk. The insurgents – or terrorists, as the official line from the government called them – would just as soon blow off his head as look at him. He was the Discoverer. They blamed him for their woes. And it wasn't even fair.

  And the Snakes were another worry. Every day, Jason feared that they’d learned how he’d helped a defector to escape their continuous surveillance. If they had, or if they decided to turn him into a pod person, they would kill him, or turn him into a weapon to use against his countrymen. Or perhaps they didn’t need to bother. He was already a weapon against his countrymen. The Welcome Foundation had become the spearhead for an alien plan to enslave large parts of the human race and probably exterminate the rest. There was nothing left for him at all. The human race, assuming it survived, would remember him as a traitor. What else could they do?

  He swallowed the wine in one gulp and winced as he felt it hit his chest. The sensation was alarmingly familiar; the dull taste in his mouth was not. Even the Welcome Foundation couldn’t get good wine these days, even with the aliens backing them. There were shortages everywhere and those who were trying to keep the country going had better things to worry about than supplies of wine to those who weren't helping. He could have called and invoked what remained of the Foundation’s authority, but it would only add to his woes. And anyone who felt like being a patriot might just poison the wine before they sent it to him. One of the more blatant collaborators had been murdered in just that fashion. Another would have died were it not for alien medical technology.

  Jason reached for the bottle with an unsteady hand and cursed as he only managed to knock it over. It fell to the floor and shattered, scattering glass and drops of wine everywhere, a terrible mess for someone to clear up. Jason started to pull himself to his feet before remembering that he wasn't wearing any shoes and in his half-drunk state he was just as likely to step on a piece of glass than avoid it. He was perhaps more likely to hurt himself by accident, in fact. The depression that threatened to overwhelm him seemed stronger, somehow, with the aid of the drink. There really was nothing left for him now.

  Somehow, he pulled himself to his feet and shuffled away from the broken glass. One of the maids would clear it up tomorrow, he told himself firmly. It was what they were paid for – and besides, they seemed to like Jason more than the other collaborators. The others seemed to think that the maids were there to service something other than the rooms. It reminded him of a documentary he’d once seen of the last days of Hitler’s Germany. The Nazis had joked about enjoying the war, because the peace would be terrible. And they’d wined and dined and fucked while their soldiers had fought to hold back the Russian tide just long enough for their masters to see another sunrise. Once, Jason had been disgusted, but now he understood. They had known that the end was coming soon, so why not get what pleasure they could out of life before the Russians stood them against a wall and shot them?

  “That’s going to make a terrible mess,” a voice said.

  Jason started. He hadn’t heard anyone coming in – coming to think of it, he was almost sure that he’d locked the door before he’d started his nightly binge. An assassin from the resistance could simply have picked the lock…Jason started to sober up rapidly out of sheer terror, even though he knew it was futile. If someone had come to kill him, he might as well stay drunk, just for a little anaesthetic. And then he managed to look up and was surprised to realise that he recognised his visitor. Mr Sanderson looked older and greyer, somehow, but at least he knew that Jason had tried to help the resistance. He probably wasn't here to kill Jason, unless he thought that Jason might betray the secret. If the aliens knew that a defector had escaped their ranks, their reaction would not be kind.

  “I…”

  His stomach heaved and he swallowed hard, trying to keep back the tidal wave of vomit that threatened to burst out of his mouth. Mr Sanderson picked up a bucket and held it, without comment, under Jason’s mouth. Jason could barely mutter a thank you before he lost all control and threw up, expelling all of the alcohol and food he’d swallowed since he’d locked the door, enjoying what life while he could. His mouth tasted awful afterwards, but somehow he felt a little better. He hadn’t thrown up so badly since a marathon drinking session back as a freshman. Since then, he’d known better than to drink to excess.

  “I think you need a shower and a change,” Mr Sanderson said. Jason almost wanted to snap at him for acting like Jason’s father, but he was right. Besides, Mr Sanderson was his contact with the resistance. Coming here risked exposure – and the Snakes didn’t need to torture someone to make him talk. “I’ll wait here. You go get ready and come back as soon as you can.”

  Jason staggered over to the sink, poured himself a glass of water, and washed his mouth out. At least it tasted better than the bitter taste of vomit. Nodding, he staggered over to the bathroom and somehow managed to get undressed without tearing anything. He ordered a hot shower, but the water was only lukewarm. It said something about the nature of alien promises that even thei
r most trusted collaborators couldn’t get hot water. They wouldn’t have found it hard to heat up a few buckets of water. And they’d promised Earth unlimited supplies of fusion-based energy.

  The water ran cold a few seconds later. Jason yelped, before realising that the cold was helping him to sober up. Cursing, he staggered out of the shower and reached for the dressing gown he’d left hanging on one of the walls. It felt scratchy against his skin, but it was better than staggering around in the nude. When he managed to get outside, he was surprised and gratified to discover that Mr Sanderson had produced two cups of steaming coffee, one of which was pointed at Jason before he could say a word. It was stronger than his normal tastes, but it helped sober him up completely.

  “I don’t have much time,” Mr Sanderson said. He sounded…annoyed. Jason understood. He’d risked losing his freedom of thought – or his life – to visit Jason, yet Jason had been thoroughly drunk and forced him to waste time making him sober up. “We know what the aliens are doing now, and how they’re organised. We need to get a team onto one of their starships, the warship. How can we do that?”

  Jason blinked at him. The coffee cup felt hot against his hands, helping him to focus. But it hardly mattered. No one – despite pleas from almost every scientist and astronaut on Earth – had been invited onto any of the alien ships. And Jason would have bet good money that they would never allow any human, let alone an armed military team, to get onto one of their ships. The starships were their ace in the hole. No rebellion could take and hold ground with the bastards holding the high ground. They would know better than to allow any chance that they could be subverted, or destroyed.